


What Was Left

by Riocat01



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fix-It, post-season 8
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:13:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 52,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27949616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riocat01/pseuds/Riocat01
Summary: Two were buried in the rubble of the Red Keep, but one has been left alive. Healing and alone, his body broken and his mind reeling, Jaime is left with nothing except his love for Brienne and his regrets over leaving her. While Brienne, devastated but determined to move on her with life after Jaime’s betrayal, finds that she has been left with so much more than just his memory.In a Westeros left to rebuild from the ravages of the mad Dragon Queen, can Jaime and Brienne find their way back to each other? Can they rebuild their lives, and their love?
Relationships: Jaime Lannister & Brienne of Tarth, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 70
Kudos: 174





	1. Chapter 1

He had thought death should have been much less painful. Then again, he was certain that he was far from any sweet glorious Heaven. He seemed caught in a churning tide. All at once he was brutally aware of the searing pain that tormented his body. It was almost more than he could bear. His muscles attempted to writhe in agony. However, his aching bones refused to move and kept him pinned in place, lying, waiting. Then, just as quickly, he succumbed to nothingness. An all encompassing void in which he ceased to exist. Then pain again, and once more the dark emptiness would creep upon him. Perhaps this was what Hell felt like. Jaime knew he more than deserved an eternity of such torture. He could abide it better than the remorse he had felt when he left her. It was more agreeable than the pain that shown upon her angelic face as she pleaded with him not to go. More welcome the feeling was, than the hurt in Brienne’s astonishing blue eyes. He could not bring himself to look into them that night. Jaime could see them clearly now, before him. Not filled with tears and anguished like the last time he had gazed upon her, but shining and bright and happy as he remembered from the moon they spent together lost in love and each other’s arms. It was a torture.

Jaime felt it strange that it was not Cersei who should hover in his thoughts, constantly. She was, after all, the one to whom he had returned. The one for whom he had abandoned his true love. They had died together, had they not? He was happy his thoughts should fall upon the one he had loved. He had stood there, in the crumbling foundations of the Red Keep, certain he was going to die, his arms wrapped around Cersei, while his every fiber cried out for Brienne, as it did now. He had once thought Cersei his soulmate. He had been so very wrong.

As he and Cersei stood together amidst the devastation of Daenarys Targaryen’s dragon fire Jaime had comforted his sister, but that was all she was to him now. No longer did he covet Cersei. He had not kissed her. He wished not for the taste of her mouth on his lips. Neither had he declared his love for her. Cersei no longer possessed his heart. He would not die with her name in his throat. His lust for her had ceased the moment he rode away from King’s Landing, heading North to Brienne. His mind, his heart, and even his body did not think of Cersei as the woman he loved. That place now belonged to another. The one he had abandoned, the woman who had made him feel loved, honorable, and whole for the first time in his life. He had left her. There had been no other way. It was the only thing he could do to keep her safe.

Even now, Jaime’s heart shuttered in terror to think of what Cersei would have done to Brienne if she had ever discovered the truth of the love he held for her. So he had told Cersei whatever lie she needed to believe, shepherded her to the depths of the castle he knew would not last, and resolved to die with her, to sacrifice himself for Brienne. It had been to save the one he truly loved. The ultimate act of his adoration for her.

Jaime had not sped back to the Capital with the intention of ending Cersei’s life. He had resigned himself to living the rest of his days trapped in a charade, pretending to love her, as he yearned in secrecy for Brienne. He would be father to the babe she carried. At least there would be the child. It shocked him how quickly his plan had changed, almost as rapidly as his mind realized the truth. He knew immediately when he saw Cersei, her belly still as flat as the day he had left her. There was no child.

Moons had passed. He had been each time a moon upon the road to and from Winterfell. Cersei had been at least that far along with she had told him of the babe. After that, Jaime had spent another glorious turn in the arms of Brienne. Cersei should have been swelling with life upon his arrival. She was not. It had all been a lie. Another in a lifetime of falsehoods meant to trap him under her manipulation and control. It was then that he finally realized the depths to which Cersei would go to have her way. It had been anger and realization that had filled Jaime’s will. He had not mourned even the thought of the child for whom he had returned. He questioned whether it was because he had never truly been certain that the babe was actually his. Then he realized that perhaps his lack of emotion was because the child he desperately would have wanted in life would have been pillar tall, with sun-yellow hair and the same lovely sky-toned eyes as its mother. The child his heart had yearned for, was the seed he had hoped to plant in Brienne’s womb. In that moment Jaime had known that whether it was by dragonfire or his own blade, he could not let the sun set that day with Cersei alive. The moon would rise upon her lifeless form, somehow, even if he had to die with her, for Brienne’s sake.

He wondered that Cersei was not with him now, in the darkness. It would have been fitting. What better torture than spending eternity with the person for whom he had lost everything? No. That was not quite the truth. He had given it up, his honor, his future, a chance for a happy life, love, Brienne, all of it. Although his reasons had been pure, Jaime had thrown all of it away, and for a lie. Now, the only thing he wished for was another chance at life, the chance to win her back.

Brienne had tried. She had tried to make him believe that he was better than the monster his sister and father had created. She had seen some small spark in him that he did not even know still existed, and had held it up to him, trying to make him realize it as well. How it had burned his shielded eyes. He ran from it, ran back to Cersei the first time. However, he had felt Brienne’s pull on him even there. Even as he laid in Cersei’s bed, it was the thought of Brienne, her image which caused his body to react and not his sister’s touch. He had closed his eyes and imagined Brienne’s glorious figure pressed against him. Although he had seen her perfection but once, and for only for a moment then at Harrenhal, her form had never left his mind. He looked at the Queen and saw Brienne’s sweet smile beholding him. He had made himself believe it were her lips pressed against his. Jaime’s yearning for Brienne grew even stronger over the miles that lay between them, until he could no longer fight it and made the only real choice he had ever known in his life. He had chosen her. Jaime remembered the sheer excitement of leaving for the North to join Brienne, which slowly turned into fear as the miles passed. As he rode on, unable to turn back, he had been terrified she would reject him, that she would sneer at his hope, that she would give him over to the Starks to do with as they pleased. But she had not done so. She was not like that.

Brienne had stood before her queen and vouched for him on the very thing she valued above all, her honor. They had fought for the living side by side, their blades, each half of a whole, as one. The way he had always thought it was with Cersei, only better. Brienne had shown him kindness, and hope, and respect. He had never known that with his own twin. It had been Brienne all along who had been his soulmate, and he had left. Jaime had wanted to make Brienne hate him. He had wanted to hurt her. It was the only way he could be sure she would stay, safe at Winterfell. He feared she would follow, but as the days passed without site of her behind him, he began to realize the pain he had inflicted upon her must have surpassed even her commitment to his redemption. Surely, she detested him now. As he galloped away from her, he knew that his very heart and soul would always be hers, just as he had once promised.

It had been only the shell of a man who had been lost under the rubble of the Red Keep, clinging to a sister he no longer loved. He supposed he had earned that fate many years before. He had already given up that which was most dear to him. He had walked arm in arm with Cersei through the collapsing passageways, and felt only numb. Had heard her speaking, but only answered her in mimic, his emotionless eyes staring blindly ahead of him. As the bricks fell upon them, he did not even see Cersei as she cried in his arms. Jaime’s mind focused on the relief that Brienne would be unharmed by any war Cersei might start for the throne, or the vengeance she would have surely exacted upon the woman who had taken Jaime’s devotion and his heart from her. He had saved Brienne even from himself. All he truly saw as he peered into the promise of his demise was Brienne’s loving face. He did not care if the crumbling ceiling took his life. He hoped it would. Without Brienne there was no reason to go on.

So he wallowed in his misery, alone in his eternal darkness, and longed for her. It was only her memory that would be his comfort forever, and still he counted himself fortunate. He would never need to give her up again. So intently did he focus on the rememberance of her sensation upon his skin that he could almost conjure her. For the few moments his mind would allow, he could enjoy her and imagine none of it had ever occurred.

Jaime found himself surfacing from the darkness once more, his thoughts filled with Brienne. He wanted to float there, alone with her, savoring every moment. But it did not stop. He continued to move upward, until breaking free from the mire began to hurt, worse than anything in his life. His body was on fire. Even when they had taken his sword hand, the pain had not been so fierce, so brutal. The worst part was that he felt Brienne leaving him, slipping through his arms. He wanted to scream, from pain, from heartache, and from fear. Where was there if there was not even the memory of her?

Suddenly, from nowhere, a light burned itself into his vision. It was dim like a candle, yet agonizing nonetheless. It nearly blinded him. Everything weighed down upon him. The air shocked his lungs as he gasped for the taste of it. He had been risen from the waves, only to be slammed to the ground. The force of it snapped his eyes open. The darkness was gone. He stared up at the stone of a dark ceiling. His chest heaved as his heart tried to find its rhythm. He tested his body, muscles flexed but limbs would not move, and every attempt sent explosions of pain through his bones. Jaime shuddered to think what torment awaited him now, and lay there in dread for the suffering to begin. Then, he heard Tyrion’s voice.

‘No.’ Jaime’s mind reached for understanding as his eyelids could no longer stand the strain and seamed themselves closed again. ‘It could not be.’ He wanted to shout. ‘Had his brother died in the siege as well?’ He could barely breathe. ‘Surely Tyrion would have survived.’ If anyone would have found a way to avert tragedy, it would have been him. Nothing ever stopped his brother. Somehow Tyrion had managed to overcome every obstacle thrown in his path, and thrive. He had proven to be the fiercest lion of them all. Truly his father’s son. Jaime almost found humor in what Tywin would have thought of that suggestion. But if Tyrion still lived. If he were there now, what did that mean?

Again, Jaime battled to open his eyes. The effort took all he had left within him. It was as if something of equal will were warring with him, trying to keep him lost and alone in the spiraling darkness. He tried again. He had to try. He had to know what it all meant.

At last, Jaime’s eyes shot open. As if he emerged the victor in the conflict he waged with an unseen force. Their torture was met by the burning harrowing pain of the light once more. His hoarse throat cried out against it. He tried to raise his arms, to shield his vision with his hand. His body was still motionless despite his most valiant attempt. He cursed himself thinking that must have been what Bran Stark had felt as he awoke to discover his legs useless.

“That’s it.” Tyrion’s voice came through the gloom again. “Fight it. Come back.” He cried from somewhere Jaime could not see.

Jaime heard his brother again. Tyrion was not dead. That meant, he was not dead. He was alive. The memories flooded back into his awareness. He was standing with Cersei in The Red Keep as the brick fell. The pain and terror overtook his mind, until he was on his horse racing back to the city. He had fought every step not to turn his steed around and return to his sweet, loving Brienne. He saw her face, her brow creased with worry, tears falling uncontrollably. She wanted him to stay. She begged him not to go. He felt the warm softness of her skin upon his, tasted her delicious kiss, enjoyed the hidden sensuality of her wondrous body. He stood with her, fighting side by side as one, where he always should have been. He watched reverently admiring from her a distance when first he returned to Winterfell. He handed her a magnificent sword, the only symbol of his heart he was free to give her then, and knew that he loved her.

‘Oh Gods! Oh Gods!’ Jaime’s mind screamed at him. He had left her. ‘What had he done?’ His heart sank lower then the depths from which he crawled.

Exhausted, he could fight no more. He knew he must be alive, but he did not wish to be. He had given up the greatest thing he had ever known, the only woman he had ever truly loved. There was no purpose for him without her. He let himself go. He wanted to fall back into the darkness. As it surged toward him again, he hoped that it would engulf him, and he would cease. If he was alive, it meant nothing without Brienne.

Jaime relaxed into the void. He prayed it would end his sorrow. He wanted no more of it. At last he was aware enough to realize that Cersei was dead. There was no mourning in his heart for his once dear sister. She had cost him far too dearly. Jaime had given up the only woman he had ever truly loved for her, and it had all been for nothing. All he wished for now was to spend eternity with the memory of the one he had abandoned, for she would never forgive him. She would never again look upon him with the tenderness and love she once had. That thought was more than he could bear.

As precious sleep found Jamie Lannister once more. Under the watchful and vigilant eye of his brother, he whispered the only word that meant anything to him anymore. “Brienne.” He sighed, and then slept.  
———————————  
Brienne felt as though the darkness were closing in around her, pulling her under. She had already fought so hard. Part of her wanted to let go, to fall back into the calming abyss of nothingness, and be washed away. Even as her mind and body begged for relief, Brienne knew she could not give up. She would never give up. She wanted this so desperately, needed it. This was all she had, now.

She had fought all her life. She had been fierce, empassioned, unmoving, and unstoppable. Those who had challenged her had all fallen at the tip of her blade. It all seemed so long ago. That life had been before. Before Jaime had journeyed to Winterfell. Before they had fought The Dead. Before they shared their passion, and their love for each other. Before he had left her crying in the frozen night. Before he had died, died with Cersei. Before.

Brienne feared this was a battle that could not be won, and with a prize so dear at stake. Her strength was failing her, with still so far to go. She held on with all her might. Failure was not an option. Every scar on her body carried a memory, but with it a victory. All of her victories, over fear, over threat, over torment, had made her a brave stalwart warrior. They had given her purpose and honor, and all of them seemed useless compared to this. She had known pain in her life, but never like this. This agony was far worse than any other she had ever experienced, far more urgent, and much more significant. Her world had shrunk to the small sphere of overwhelming torment that surrounded her.

Brienne felt Queen Sansa’s hand grasping her own, unswerving. There was no time for her to wonder at the unseen strength behind Sansa's grip, or to fear that in her own intensity she might break her monarch’s fingers, Brienne sensed the young leader of The North leaning close to her, willing strength into her, the girl’s face drawn with worry. Sansa’s words echoed in her ears, compelling her to continue.

“Push, Brienne! Push!” Sansa implored, trying to force the resolve into her sworn sword and friend that she sensed was failing.

From somewhere Brienne heard her own voice straining a guttural reply, as her body again attempted to force the babe toward life. Her babe, his babe. Her mind replayed the past moons as if they had been a dream. She watched Jaime riding away from her, out of the courtyard, toward his certain death. She did not know how long she had stood there in the frigid winter air, praying he would return. Brienne remembered when the news reached her, that he had been lost. She had cried for days, stricken with grief. Queen Sansa had been so kind, so caring. She was the only person Brienne would allow near her. The only one who gained entrance to her darkened, tomb-like chamber. She had not even been able to face Podrick. She knew his sweet worried face would have been too much, and she would lose all hope of the control she was trying so desperately to regain.

Then the image changed. Brienne had awakened on Jaime’s side of the bed, where she had spent each moment of her restless nights since he had left her. She had roused to overpowering nausea. She had barely been able to stand before the contents of her stomach hurled themselves onto the floor. She knew, of course she knew. Her moon blood had been far past late. Brienne had tried to tell herself it was not the truth, it could not be. How could the babe of a man who had not even wanted her burgeon within her womb? When it became clear that she could fool herself nor others any longer, Sansa had insisted that she be examined by Winterfell’s new maester, Samwell Tarly. It took only a short time, for which Brienne had been glad, for the healer to announce that she was with child. Her strong warrior’s body carried within it a tiny babe, her babe, Jaime’s babe.

It had been only a few short fortnights hence that Brienne had stood before the mirror, studying her rounding form, amazed, unable to find breath, feeling the babe quicken within her belly. In that moment, Jaime Lannister did not matter anymore. The only thing in the entire world of any importance to her now, was seeing her child brought safely forth. Her world had become very simple, that one tiny unheard heartbeat was her reason for living. She had never wanted to be a mother, had never imagined she would be. However, now that she carried a life within her womb, the little being that grew inside her was the only thing she could think of.

Again she heard Sansa’s words of encouragement as another needful spasm ravaged her exhausted body. Somewhere outside her awareness, Brienne felt the soothing coolness of the wet cloth which Gilly used to wipe the sweat from her weary brow. “It’s almost over, My Lady.” The young woman declared excitedly. Brienne gulped in air as if it were disappearing from the room. She gritted her teeth and did as her body commanded, bearing down as hard as she had enough strength left to.

Brienne’s ragged gasps became agonized screams as her babe began to emerge from her body, tearing through her with such excruciating force that she thought she was ripping apart. She clutched Sansa’s hand even more desperately, and pushed again. Brienne had been laboring for nearly two days. She had seen the worried looks passed between Gilly and Sam Tarly, as they worked to deliver her of her babe. Her pains had started early in the darkness of the morning, and by noon that day were pummeling her unrelentingly. However, the babe was not moving down in her belly. Brienne answered the overwhelming pressure to push with all her might, until she was nearly in shock from the pain, and still her muscles could not force her babe from her womb. That was until Gilly took matters into her own hands. The young woman, a recent new mother for the second time herself, placed her palms, one on the top of Brienne’s belly, and one below, and shoved downward with all her strength. Brienne thought she would burst from the pain. It took several grueling attempts, but finally the little body curled inside her broke free of her pelvic bone on which it was stuck, and began to finally be forced toward life by the straining its mother could barely control. The sun was setting on the second day of her ordeal, when at last Brienne’s tortured scream was replace by the miraculous sound of her child’s first cry. It was not until several sunsets later, that the battle proven knight learned of how close she had come to succumbing in childbirth as her own mother had done.

Brienne wept as her squalling baby boy was laid in her arms, wet and bloody and perfect. She never dreamed it was possible to love anything so immediately and completely as the way her heart soared for the little person she had created. By the time she bent her neck to kiss his slick soft little head, she had completely forgotten the pain and fear of the ordeal of his birth. Brienne never wanted to let him go, and knew she would give all she had, and everything within her to keep him safe.

Brienne’s tears fell not only to welcome her newborn, but also to mourn the babe’s father. As she stared upon the tiny face that already held so much of him, Brienne’s thoughts went unbidden to Jaime. Her heart ached for the nights of passion they had shared, wrapped in each other’s arms in the very bed where she had just born his son into the world. Her tongue still tasted the sweetness of his kisses, and her skin flashed hot with the memory of his touch. She had so happily thought that he loved her, that they would be together forever. She saw his face, smiling so softly at her, and wondered if he would be proud to gaze upon their child. Then, her mind could not fight the memory of waking alone in their bed, finding him readying to depart, and begging him to stay. How her heart had broken as she watched him ride away from her. She had loved Jaime Lannister, and his leaving had shattered her.

She had tried to bury his memory, to light a funeral pyre for him in her heart upon which to destroy the remains of her love for him. She had fought her own thoughts each time he would come to her mind. She told herself that the babe she carried was hers and hers alone, but it did no good. She could not help waking in the night, and dissolving into tears as their babe made its presence known against the insides of her belly. Brienne’s breath caught in her throat when she realized how desperately she wanted Jaime to have been there with her, comforting her, holding her hand, watching their babe being born. For the shadow of a moment, Brienne thought of another babe. The one for whom Jaime had left her, had left them. Now that she was a mother she could mourn for the innocent being who had been part of Jaime. During the moons that his child had grown in her own womb, Brienne could not bear to think of Cersei’s babe, lost along with its parents in the collapse of the Red Keep. As she had felt her own child move and kick within her, Brienne swallowed her jealousy at the unborn babe who would never taste the life her child would know.

The moons since their time together had not been easy. Brienne’s mind constantly relived their parting, and it seemed her resentment toward her babe’s father grew as his child did. The anger that she had carried for Jaime these months, gave pause as she allowed herself to remember what they had shared. Now holding her thriving newborn, Brienne could not help but enjoy a tinge of satisfaction that it was she, and not Cersei, who had brought Jaime’s child alive into the world. She who would carry on his line, and be matriarch to his descendants. Their bond would flourish, even if he had not wanted it. Her babe wriggled in her arms, his soft cooing bringing her back to reality. She nuzzled the tiny cheek that nestled against her bare skin, and lovingly clasped the little fist that held so tight to her finger. She had his child. She had been the one to keep part of him alive. She had brought his son wailing with strength and pride into the world. At least she would have that much of him.

When her birthing was finished, Brienne was laid weakly back against the pillows, her child nursing hungrily from her breast, as Sam and Gilly attended to the final remnants of her delivery. “He is beautiful, Brienne.” Sansa beamed. Brienne broke her gaze from her babe’s eye and smiled up at her Queen, the joy of motherhood shining on her face. The happy tears that she saw falling from the young rulers eyes, only endeared the girl more to her sworn sword.

“What will his name be?” Sansa asked sweetly, enjoying watching Brienne enthralled with her newborn.

Brienne had sent a raven to her father, Lord Selwyn, at Evenfall shortly after she had discovered that she was with child. Her heart was terrified at what would be The Evenstar’s response to her bearing a babe out of wedlock, let alone the Kingslayer’s bastard. She feared her father would deem her a whore, and disown her, declaring her unwelcome on her own home of Tarth. She had lain sleepless in the nights, waiting for his response, dreading it. When the raven at last returned she held the slip of parchment in her pocket for almost a week, too afraid to look upon it. Finally, at Queen Sanas’s hopeful bidding, Brienne opened the note and read the words her father had penned.

Her breathe trailed slowly from her lungs, and her chest filled with the sweet refreshment of new hope. Her father’s only concern had been for her health, and that of her unborn child. “I am overjoyed at the news of the heir you will bear me.” Lord Selwyn had written. “I pray the gods will see you safely through my grandchild’s birth. I pray also for the babe, that you will bear a healthy, happy child.” He went on. “Your child is of Tarth, and will share proudly in our legacy.” He begged Brienne to bring the boy home to meet him as soon as they were ready, and swore what she was ashamed she had even questioned, his undying love for her.

The joy of reading her father’s words played in her mind as she answered Sansa's question. “His name is Galladon. For my dear lost brother.” Brienne said proudly.

She could not help it that her heart filled with anger at her child’s father. It had been far too broken to forgive him. Inwardly, she mourned the man she loved, who would now never know his own son. Brienne realized that from most, she would be forced to hide the truth of her son’s parentage. There was, however, still something deep within in her heart that could not bear to truly take him from their child. That same hidden and hardened part of the damaged organ within her chest also could not bear to take their babe from the man who was his father.

Brienne’s voice cracked as she announced her child’s full name. “Jaimes Galladon of Tarth.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As he recovers from his injuries, Jaime finds himself consumed with thoughts of Brienne. For the sake of her child, Brienne must find a way to move on.

Jaime starred absently at the fire in the hearth. He could not remember when he had last moved from the solitary chair in the dark stale room that had become his cell. His body was slow in returning to him. Bones still mending, muscles weakened to the point of atrophy, he had only the strength to drag himself from the small uncomfortable bed to the hard unwelcoming spot were he spent his days. Once, he had forced his aching limbs to drag the rest of him to the door, desperate to flee his crypt, only to find it barred. The lone casement was locked as tight as the door, as was the shutter that filtered the light and blocked any view. He was a prisoner. The worst part was the identity of his jailer.

Tyrion visited him, daily, usually making several trips to the tiny foreboding room in which his brother withered. The younger Lannister always pocketed the key. The elder brother lacked the strength even to try gaining its possession. Jaime barely spoke during those visits. Tyrion offered little information regarding his current circumstances. Jaime wondered if perhaps Daenarys had taken him prisoner. Tyrion was her hand, after all. Had his own brother sold him out to the new queen?

“You are not a prisoner.” Tyrion informed him one day, when Jaime had flung venom at him during a moment of self pity and despair.

“You call this freedom?” Jaime asked in disgust.

“I call this protection.” Tyrion shot back.

“Locked windows, and barred doors, protection?” Jaime mocked in disbelief.

“Yes.” Tyrion held firm. “It’s the best I could do. You are not a prisoner.” He repeated. “And Danaerys is not Queen.” Jaime thought he saw a shadow of shame cross before Tyrion’s eyes. He sat back and studied his brother for a moment.

“Where are we?” Jaime questioned, his face a mask of confusion.

“Someplace safe.” Tyrion promised. “For now. As long as you stay in this room.” His answer was cryptic, and only fueled Jaime’s curiosity and suspicions.

Tyrion’s so called sanctuary was more painful than any torture he could have imagined. As Jaime slowly healed from the injuries he had sustained in the collapse of the Red Keep, the unrelenting solitude gave him no distraction from his thoughts. It did, however, afforded plenty of time to thoroughly examine each of his regrets. Most of them centered upon what he had done to Brienne.

Jaime knew not how much time had been lost from his life. There were moments when it seemed as though only days separated him from the time he had cherished with Brienne. In other reflections it felt that years had journeyed by since he had felt her in his arms. He spent most of his days, eyes closed, deep within his own thoughts. It was not a weariness from the pain of his injuries that caused his stupor. It was only by shutting out even the dim firelight that glowed in the hearth, could he focus his inner vision solely upon her. It was more than a memory. Jaime could sense Brienne with him. It was as if some tiny cord of communion connected them still. He could see Brienne so clearly in his mind. He could yet taste her upon his tongue, hear her lilting voice calling his name, feel her in his arms. So intent in his dreaming was Jaime that he did not even realize when he raised his fingers trying to trace the curves and plains of Brienne’s glorious body. The feel of her continued to tingle upon his own skin.

If he concentrated hard enough he could imagine her perfect figure still pressed against him. How he had gloried in the view of her form. It had not been at Winterfell that his eyes had first beheld the tight perfection of her body. At Harrenhal his reflexes had known the truth his heart would not admit for so very long, as he had grown hard at the sight of her. That fit, flawless form that only he knew. The secret beneath her armor. Jaime realized what others thought of Brienne’s appearance. He felt the shame of his first remarks to her. He called her ugly, declared that he could not decide if she were woman or man. Those words, now bitterly taunted him. They echoed hatefully in his ears. He was uncertain when it was that he began to consider her the loviest, most exquisite thing he had ever known. It was not just her precious face, and sensual body that had made it impossible for him to deny his need for her. Brienne’s caring and steadfast heart had drawn Jaime to her like a man dying of thirst. She was the only thing that could quench his longing. To Jaime, Brienne was more beautiful than Cersei had ever been.

Brienne was everything that Jaime had longed for his entire life. All that he had been denied, and all he yearned to be. Gods, how he loved her. He had never told her. Would she have believed him? Could Brienne have ever trusted that his heart truly belonged only to her now, forever? He feared her rejection. The way Cersei would have laughed and belittled him at the declaration of such emotions. There were times during that wonderful moon they had spent together at Winterfell, that Jaime would catch Brienne staring at him, watching him, almost trying to memorize him. It was as if something told her their happy bliss would not last. Tears found Jaime’s eyes, realizing how correct she had been.

More than he would have hoped, Jaime’s mind traveled back to the horrible night of his worst fault. The nightmare plagued him still. It visited him the first night he and Brienne had shared their passion, and nearly every night since. So jarring, so shocking was it that he found himself bolted awake drenched in sweat and starved for breath. In his sleeping state, Jaime saw Cersei discovering his love for Brienne, understood his heart belonged to another, and realized that that he never wanted to be near her again. His mind then watched in horror as Cersei slaughtered Brienne in front of his eyes. He was powerless to stop it, unable to save the woman he loved.

At first, Jaime tried to ignore the terror that haunted him in the dark. He told himself that he would never let Cersei get that close to Brienne. He believed he could protect her. So he buried the nightmare in the light of day, and lost himself in their new found happiness. That was, until the day Sansa Stark told him of Cersei’s ambush of Daenarys Targaryen’s army. Suddenly the nightmare was all too possible, and all too real. For the first time he understood the danger in which he had put Brienne. That night, when he was roused from his slumber, he watched Brienne sleeping so peacefully beside him in their bed, and knew it was a chance he could not take.

He wanted to hurt her. Jaime needed to make Brienne hate him. It was the only way he could ensure she would not follow him. At first he thought slipping away under cover of darkness without saying a word, would be so callous that Brienne would never look upon with love again. But she had caught him, stopped him. Her sweet face had been so desperate, so dear, that he could not bear to look. He had never seen her beg, for anything, not even her life. Yet in the cold darkness, as he prepared to leave her, she pleaded with him not to go. That was when he was certain Brienne loved him as much as he loved her. Each of the tears that fell bitterly upon her cheeks were blades that sliced his heart until he was numb. He did not dare peer into her deep blue eyes. He could only hold Brienne’s trembling wrist with his gloved hand and try to comfort her. It was a pitifully small attempt, yet still she saw only the good in him. No steel through his flesh, no pile of bricks crushing his bones could ever be more painful than saying goodbye to her.  
——————————  
Life at Winterfell carried on as usual, servants and bannermen worked to fulfill the needs of the Starks and those over whose welfare they were charged. Preparations were being made for Sansa’s brother, Bran, to travel once more to King’s Landing to assume the throne, no longer iron. Queen Sansa endeavored tirelessly to watch over it all, and ruled the frigid North with kindness and honor, as her family had done for centuries. However, in the tiny comfortable chamber which housed the daughter of Tarth and her infant son, the room in which the child had been conceived and born, life was warm and gentle and new.

Despite never having dreamed of becoming a mother, Brienne took naturally to her role as if it had always been her destiny. She cared meticulously for her child’s every need, and had never felt so happy. To her astonishment, Brienne became so busy seeing to her babe, that thoughts of the boy’s father soon faded to what she deemed their proper place at the back of her mind. Even as her body healed, and she regained her strength she began to forge a new identity for herself, and her son, separate from The Kingslayer.

Sam and Gilly called upon Brienne daily, eager to ensure the health of the new mother and her babe. While her recovery from the birth was not the easiest, they always found Brienne in good spirits, and enthusiastic about all of the new discoveries of motherhood. Podrick Payne, too, was a constant visitor. Brienne looked forward to her cheerful squire’s accounting of the events outside her lodging, and enjoyed watching him with little Galladon more than she let on.

Soon, Brienne was up and around, returned to full health, and seeing to the matters of Queen Sansa’s security. The affairs of the day were often seen to with her tiny babe in arms, for she trusted only a select few with her child when she could not be with him. Usually, it was Gilly who was given the honor, when Brienne felt her day’s service would be too taxing, or too frigid for her infant. She would not allow herself to be gone from Galladon for long, however, and returned to him nearly heartbroken from the separation.

It was at the end of a long day of training recruits for Sansa’s Northern Army, that Brienne’s resolve was to be tested. It came from the mouth of a newcomer who looked to be closer in age to her own father, than even to herself. She had just finished showing the man how to properly handle a broadsword in close combat, and was turning to inspect the posture of another trainee when the older man mumbled his none too veiled remark.

“I’ll not be taking my orders from The Kingslayer’s Whore.” His vile words rang in Brienne’s ears as she turned slowly, her face set in steely disgust. She would have cut him down for the remark, but was stopped by Sansa’s call from the walkway above them. Podrick bristled, and puffed protectively, as he appeared at Brienne’s side seemingly from nowhere.

“You will take orders from your commanding officer, Ser Brienne of Tarth.” Sansa’s decree rang above the noise of the courtyard. “Or you will not be a part of my army.” She threatened. The man only sneered once more in Brienne’s direction.

“Guards.” Sansa ordered. “See this man to the gates.” She gave the rest of the recruits a menacing glare, letting them know she would not abide any further disrespect directed toward Brienne.

Brienne bit her lip at the man’s snide remark. She had seen the sideways glances, and hidden laughter as she had grown large with Jaime’s child. The whispers had been better veiled, but they had been spoken none the less. This was the first time anyone had nerve enough to say it within earshot of her. Throughout her life, she had become a master at hiding her feelings, at times until her mouth was raw from the chewing attempts to keep her tears at bay. She gathered herself enough to give her queen a thankful bow, and bid Podrick to finish the day’s maneuvers. Then, Brienne steadied to her full height, and strode proudly from the training yard.

Somehow, through a lifetime of practice, Brienne had managed to control the storm of emotions welling up within her. She made her way to the passage that led to her chamber. There she found Gilly watching Galladon along with the girl’s own children. Brienne thanked the young woman politely, and gathered her son, clutching him tightly to her. Her head swam with a thousand thoughts that all seemed to converge on one distant point, Jaime.

Brienne had no memory of her legs moving, no recollection of the faces that passed her as she trudged down the corridor. There was only Galladon in her arms, and her heart racing in her ears. The cold steel knob felt like ice in her hand as she turned it. The door slammed behind her like a boulder lodging itself in place, keeping out the rest of the world. Brienne looked down into the face of her child sleeping peacefully in her arms. The face so much like that of his father, save for her own eyes. At last she gave herself the freedom to weep.

Her knees buckled and she slid to the floor. The sobbing shook her body as she rocked her child. All of the vicious slights and cruel comments to which she had been subjected her entire life, had not been as hurtful as the epithets she imagined her little boy hearing whispered behind his back as he grew. The world would be harsh to the fatherless child of a dishonored father. Somehow, people would know. Everyone at Winterfell were already well aware of the identity of the boy’s sire. She dreaded the day some mean-spirited fool would say it to his face.

Since he left her, Brienne found that she was somehow able to keep the ghost of Jaime Lannister from her mind. Only rarely, now, did his specter creep into her thoughts. She became quite good at chasing him away as quickly as he would intrude upon her. Somehow she had found a way to keep him from troubling her every waking moment. She had forced herself not to think of him each time she looked into the face of the child he had given her. Brienne knew there would come a time that she would not be able to force his shadow from their lives. She vowed to herself that even in his absence, her son would never be lacking for anything. She would be both mother and father to her child. He would know only love, and honor. She would see him grow strong and proud, and never ashamed. Brienne swore that she would create a distance between them and Jaime so great, that no one would dare ever call her The Kingslayer’s Whore again. If she were vigilant, and very lucky, her son would never know that he was the Kingslayer’s Bastard.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Queen Sansa presents Brienne with an offer she cannot refuse. Could it be a new beginning for Brienne and her infant son? Within the walls of his tiny locked chamber, Jaime begins to heal and regain his strength, with thoughts of Brienne as his only comfort.

Brienne sat comfortably by the hearth in her chamber, Galladon dozing lazily at her breast. The babe’s stomach was full, and his heart was happy. His mother’s thoughts were blissfully content as she regarded her precious son, the expression she wore as joyful as that of her child. Brienne could feel the tension leaving her body, as a peaceful fulfillment began to settle over her. It had been a long and busy day. Time had been spent training recruits, seeing to the inventory of the armory, and guarding Queen Sansa as she went about her full schedule of duties. Brienne had been late returning to her son. She had found him hungry and fussing for her attentions. Her own body was begging for the relief of his nursing. They were both eager and eased to settle together for their usual quiet evening routine.

Brienne’s mind had wondered to the pure sweet thoughts of motherhood, when a soft rapping sounded on the panel of her door. Roused from her imaginings, Brienne pulled the smock she wore around herself, and lifted her babe into her grasp. She crossed the room to answer the knocking. Brienne opened the entry to her quarters only wide enough to peer out at whomever it was calling upon her. She was surprised and a bit worried to find Queen Sansa standing patiently on the other side.

“Your Grace?” Brienne gasped, worried that something was wrong. “What can I do for you?” She questioned, unable to keep the concern from her voice.

Sansa smiled warmly, and held up her hand to quell Brienne’s fears. “Please forgive my intrusion.” Her eyes traveled to the babe sleeping in her sworn sword’s arms. Her gaze grew more affectionate watching the child. “I did not mean to alarm you, or to trouble you. There is nothing amiss.” She assured Brienne. “Might I speak with you?” She asked pleasantly.

“Of course.” Brienne answered dutifully. “Please come in.” She stood back, allowing Sansa entrance to her chamber.

Sansa strode respectfully to the hearth and studied the glowing embers as Brienne closed the door, and adjusted Galladon in her arms. She waited at a proper distance for Sansa to begin. The Queen turned slowly, and although she wore a brave face, Brienne sensed an almost nervous reluctance within the young woman. Sansa held her own hands tightly in front of her, attempting not to allow them to tremble in nervousness. She feared how Brienne would take the news she had to impart.

Brienne cleared her throat to end the awkward silence, and motioned toward the chair next to the warm hearth where she had sat nursing her drowsing babe only a few moments before. “Would you care to sit, My Queen?” She offered.

Sansa gave a relieved chuckle, happy that the conversation had at least begun. She shook her head in grateful refusal. “Brienne.” She cast her eyes down bashfully. “You are the new mother. I am sure you are far more weary than I.” Her unneeded concern, brought a polite laugh to Brienne’s throat.

“I am quite well, Your Grace.” Brienne assured her. “Thank you for your concern, but please, I insist.” Brienne motioned again toward the cozy seat.

“Very well.” Sansa smiled widely. “On one condition.” She halted. Brienne raised a ready eyebrow eager to meet any need her ruler might present.

Sansa relaxed, instantly taking on a more casual demeanor. “May I hold him?” She begged, gazing lovingly at the tiny babe in his mother’s arms.

Brienne grinned proudly. “I would trust no other.” She agreed.

Sansa settled onto the cushion, as Brienne gently laid her son into The Queen’s arms. The babe cooed and nestled into Sansa’s warm embrace, as her soft eyes washed over the tiny infant. “You have been greatly blessed.” Sansa told Brienne without taking her admiring stare from Galladon.

Brienne could not hide the maternal pride she felt at Sansa’s praise of her precious child. She nodded her concurrence, and wanted to beam with glee. However, she had never been one for accepting compliments with self-congratulations. Brienne was very aware that it had been Sansa’s generosity and kindness that had allowed her and her child to remain safe at Winterfell. She also understood that The Queen in the North held very little hope of ever having a child of her own, or even marrying at all. Sansa had been through too much and trusted very little. Brienne had seen the young girl staring wistfully at her swelling middle as she had grown large with her babe. She feared that an overly glowing reaction to The Queen’s words would seem bragging and arrogant, and she would not have pained Sansa for anything. She wished, most of all, to convey her gratitude.

“Yes, Your Grace.” She began. “I have truly been blessed.” Brienne watched her sleeping son with adoration. “We both owe much of our good fortune to your benevolence, My Queen.” Brienne affirmed.

Sansa’s eyes grew distant even as she studied Galladon. “Not at all.”she countered. “It is good to have new life here at Winterfell.” Her heart lamented all that had been lost there. “It is fitting.” Brienne understood the reason behind the Queen’s sad tone. “My Lady Mother and Lord Father would be pleased.” Sansa declared.

“You have made a home for us here.” Brienne said gratefully. “We are forever in your debt.” She promised.

Sansa shook her head. “The obligation is duly mine, I assure you.” She said earnestly. Brienne could not escape noticing the anguish in Sansa’s eyes as the girl turned to study the fire all too intently.

“Is something troubling you, Your Grace?.” Brienne asked nervously.

Sansa’s expression grew distance and she nodded slightly, casting her glance once more to Galladon, sleeping in her arms. “Would you sit with me, please?” She requested, motioning toward the small stool which set beside the hearth. Brienne’s stomach went hallow, as her face fell. She tried to ignore the sense of foreboding that welled within her, and quickly drew the footstool up to face Sansa. Brienne could barely feel her legs beneath her as she sat.

Unexpectedly, Sansa reached for Brienne’s hand. Brienne could not help but notice her ruler’s fingers were shaking as she accepted the gesture. “It warms my heart that you consider Winterfell your home.” Sansa remarked sincerely. “I hope you will always think of it so.” She wished softly. “It is that very fact that makes what I must say to you all the more difficult.” Sansa admitted, her voice trailing off with a quiver. Brienne could only stare in dread.

Finally, taking a deep breath of reluctant resolve Sansa spoke the words she had been avoiding. “Please believe me, that I have agonized over this decision.” Her eyes pleaded with Brienne to understand. “But I must ask that you leave Winterfell.” She could not bring herself to look at Brienne when the last of her words left her mouth.

Brienne felt her limbs go numb, as she struggled to comprehend Sansa’s statement. Her hand slipped from Sansa’s grip to her own lap. She searched the Queen’s face for any sign of explanation. The silence between them stretched far past the point of comfort. The thoughts which swirled in Brienne’s mind made her dizzy. It was the ones that formed to coherence that indicted and condemned her. Of course the Northern Lords that advised Sansa, and perhaps the queen herself, would no longer wish for her service. There was no place at Winterfell for the Kingslayer’s Whore.

Brienne turned to stare into the flames. She did not wish Sansa to see the forlorn look that rested upon her features. “I have brought shame upon House Stark.” She whispered. Her voice sounded oddly emotionless.

Sansa shook her head sharply, the corners of her mouth dipping in a frown. She had not intented for her news to be voiced so harshly, or taken so heavily. She had presented her case completely wrong. “No. Brienne, You have brought nothing but honor to Winterfell.” She declared. “No one has served House Stark more steadfastly, or with greater dedication than you.” She praised. Brienne’s only answer was a confused and furrowed brow.

At that moment, almost as if Brienne’s infant son sensed his mother’s distress, Galladon stirred and whimpered. He reached out, searching for the security of the woman who had given him life. Sansa’s face became worried, unsure how to comfort the child. Her eyes went urgently to Brienne, and she moved to relinquish the fussing babe. Brienne bent toward Sansa, and quickly took Galladon into her arms, laying his still drowsy head upon her shoulder. She rubbed her babe’s back, and calmly soothed him with a kiss upon his head, happy to have him returned to her arms. Immediately, Galladon relaxed and eased back into his sleep. Sansa marveled at the power of a mother’s touch.

The women sat in silence for a long moment. Brienne struggled valiantly to prevent her bewilderment from overwhelming her. Sansa searched for the words that would bring comfort to her protector. “Please.”Sansa begged. “Please believe me. What I ask of you has nothing to do with any action on your part, save that of upholding your oath, and protecting my sister and myself bravely.” She explained.

Brienne looked at Sansa questioningly. “I do not understand, Your Grace.” She shook her head, perplexed by the possibilities of the Queen’s meaning.

Sansa regarded Brienne proudly. “My brother, Bran, has asked me to release you from your oath of service to House Stark.” Sansa told Brienne, a lump forming in her throat. “He has appointed you Lord Commander of his Kingsguard.” She tried to smile at the opportunity Bran was presenting to Brienne, but the thought of losing someone who had grown so dear was almost more than Sansa could bear. She had not allowed herself to be close to anyone for so long. Brienne had become more to her than just a sworn sword.

Brienne could hardly believe what she was hearing. She knew the Kingsguard demanded total dedication. Lord Commanders and Guardsmen alike for generations had been required to give up everything and devote their lives solely to their duty. Her thoughts went unbidden to the day she had bathed with Jaime at Harrenhal. She heard his lament of the oaths that had taken everything from him. While Brienne herself was no stranger to living her life for an oath, or to refusing her own desires to fulfill a promise sworn upon the sword blade. It was different now. Her life was not hers to give, it belonged to the little bundle in her arms. Reflexively, her grasp tightened around her babe, still sleeping at her neck.

“But I...” Brienne answered haltingly. “I have a child.” She stammered. “The oath of loyalty to the Kingsguard forbids my raising him.” She shook her head trying to push the image of abandoning her son from her mind. Even sending him to her father on Tarth would be too great a distance between them.

“I cannot, I will not give him up.” Brienne protested, tears welling in her eyes. She had never refused any of the Queen’s requests before. Now, it seemed her very life depended upon it.

Sansa looked sympathetically at Brienne. “Do not worry.” She assured her. “Bran promises many changes.” She nodded. “He wishes his reign to be a new beginning. One very different from the suffocating ways of the past.” Sansa announced. “You shall not be separated from your child. He will remain with you.” She smiled.

Brienne expression softened. “In Kings Landing?” She asked, almost rhetorically. Her mind already picturing all that would mean. She would have to leave Winterfell. She would live her days in the very place Jaime had died. The very place to which he had journey when he left her, for another.

Sansa sensed Brienne’s apprehension, and realized her feelings of reluctance. “Yes.” She answered. “Kings Landing is not what it used to be.” She pled Bran’s case. “It has taken nearly a year to rebuild the Red Keep itself. It is almost brand new.” She eyed Brienne, hoping she would comprehend the meaning behind her words. “The ghosts of the past are gone.” She told Brienne, her own eyes glistening with sad memories.

Brienne suddenly understood how painful thoughts of the Capital must be for Sansa and Bran. It was not only Jaime who had been lost there. The life of their own father, Ned Stark, had been taken on the grounds of the Red Keep. It was where Sansa, herself, had been held a virtual prisoner. If they could look toward the future their with hope, surely she could as well.

“I can think of none who would make a better Lord Commander than you.” Sansa praised. “Samwell Tarly had already been named Bran’s Grand Maester. Lord Tyrion will be Hand to the King. He has been there all this time, seeing to every detail of the rebuilding.” She listed. “I desperately wish someone I trust to keep my brother safe.” Her eyes pleaded with the hope that Brienne would consider the offer. “Bran has been quite insistent on the matter.” Sansa cleared her throat. “He has been through so much. I want there to be no worries for him, at least where his Small Council is concerned.” Truthfully, Bran’s correspondence to his sister had seemed so urgent over the necessity of having Brienne in Kings Landing, that Sansa almost wondered if he sensed something important for her there.

Sansa regarded Brienne proudly. “You have served House Stark with courage, honor, and devotion. There is no one else I would want to watch over my brother.” Sansa said sincerely.

“But what of you, Your Grace?” Brienne could hardly bear the thought of leaving Sansa unguarded and vulnerable.

Sansa smiled at Brienne’s concern. “I will be fine.” She affirmed. “I have my entire Queen’s Guard to keep me safe.” She tried to say confidently, but was losing the battle to appear resolved. The Queen breathed deeply, and tried to steady her trembling voice. “The truth is, it will sadden me greatly to see you go.” She admitted. “You are not only my sworn sword, Brienne, you are my friend.” Sansa confided. “I will miss you terribly.” Her tone conveyed the pain in her heart as she reached and stroked the nape Galladon’s soft neck. “Both of you.” Her eyes were warm as she regarded mother and child.

Sansa thought of the love Brienne had lost, the father her son would never know. She saw her own lost family so clear in her mind. “We have all made sacrifices to see a new Westeros grow from the ashes.” She lowered her eyes sadly. “I cannot stand in the way of that, no matter how much I would wish to.” She conceded. Brienne’s eyes were filled with both compassion for Sansa, and pain for what they had both lost.

“I know that Winterfell holds so many...memories.” Sansa’s speech was guarded, but her eyes strayed to the bed. Brienne understood that her meaning was of Jaime. “Kings Landing could be a fresh start.” Sansa attempted, hopefully. “What an exciting place for a young boy to grow.” She presented. “And it is so close to Tarth. You could visit your father. I am sure he would like to spend time with his grandson.” She made her case.

Brienne’s head was swimming with all that Sansa described. The Lord Commandership was the kind of privilege Brienne had always dreamed of. As Galladon grew, a bustling city may very well provide him greater opportunity for squiring, apprenticing, or whatever else his path may hold. She desperately wanted to see her father, and to introduce him to his heir. It surprised her that she seems to be talking herself into accepting the position.

One of Sansa points of persuasion hit Brienne stronger than any of the others. For her Winterfell was filled with remembrances of her time there with Jaime, when she thought he loved her. Standing in the courtyard could almost trick her mind into seeing him suddenly appear as he had when he had ridden North to her. The battlements she patrolled, upon which they had fought the Dead together, as one, still held the feeling of his presence. Secluded alcoves into which he had pulled her, and they had feasted on kisses, seem to still be filled with his ardent whispers. The hidden out-of-the-way places where they had succumbed to their urgent needful passions and made love continued to hold his ghost. Even the very bed in which she still slept. Every turn she took held his memory, and it was exhausting fighting their appearances, especially when she wanted so badly to remember. However, that was a diversion she could not allow herself. Perhaps it would be best to take her son and start a new life in the Capital. At least it might be possible there to weave the fallacy that her child’s father was not who everyone at Winterfell knew he was.

Before she could change her mind, almost as if in a dream, Brienne heard her voice answering The Queen in the North. “It would be my honor to serve your brother in Kings Landing, Your Grace.” She shifted her infant upon her shoulder and regarded Sansa with a clear and determined confidence.

Queen Sansa smiled happily in response. “I believe you will meet the challenge of your new position with honor, and bring pride to the realm.” She praised.

Brienne bowed her head. “Thank you,Your Grace.” She accepted. However, the thought of one she would miss greatly troubled her mind.  
“Might I make a request?” She asked, hopefully.

“Anything.” Sansa answered gladly.

Brienne took a breath and settled Galladon before continuing. “I would ask that Ser Podrick be my first recruit for the Kingsguard.” She presented, eager to further her loyal former squire’s career, and have a friendly face near as she began her new path.

Sansa’s shoulders fell a little, as she opened her mouth to speak. “Oh. I am sorry.” She shook her head. “I am afraid that is impossible.” Sansa answered with kind understanding.

A look of disappointment clouded Brienne’s face. “I see.” She nodded, resigning herself to life in Kings Landing with only her child for comfort.

For some unknown reason, Sansa smile began to beam in the wake of Brienne’s discouragement. “Ser Podrick has already accepted a new position.” Her grin widened. “As King Bran’s personal Sword. He shall be accompanying you to Kings Landing.“ Sansa eyes flickered, enjoying being the one to give her friend the news. Brienne’s face brightened, and her smile glowed, as she realized the honor which had been bestowed upon her friend as well as herself.

Brienne felt as though her agreement should have given her a sense of foreboding and apprehension, or at least a greater sadness at the thought of leaving Winterfell. She could not explain why, but once her declaration had been made, all there was within her heart was a growing sense of excitement. She had not felt hopeful in so long that it was good to look forward to something, to have a challenge once again. ‘Perhaps.’ Brienne thought to herself. ‘Perhaps my destiny awaits in Kings Landing.’ She smiled as she looked into the face of her son.  
——————————  
The endless days passed, and little by little, Jaime regained his strength. He had no way of determining how long he had been kept hidden in what he had come to describe as his cell. Weeks had turned to moons, and then those had come and gone, mostly with only a vague realization of the world continuing somewhere on the edge of his perception. All the while it seemed as if Brienne were always just beyond the horizon, a constant driving force toward which he directed his journey. He was caught between the past, the present, and the future, but always with her. At times he could almost deceive himself, and believe he might someday catch up with her. Perhaps, if he were diligent and very lucky, he could win her back. On those days, when his mind was filled not with the shadow of agony and regret, but with the memory and the hope of her, he could almost smile.

Slowly, his body had healed, and while he was not the formidable warrior he had once been, Jaime began to grow more confident that he could at least hold his own in a fight, albeit a small one, Each morning he would force himself from his bed at dawn, and spend the day in his own form of training within the confines of his dark tiny chamber. With the same disciplined focus of his youth he began the routine, putting himself through the drills he had learned in the training yard at Casterly Rock when he was only a boy. Jaime could almost laugh now, as he rehearsed the perrys and counters that Bronn had forced him to repeat over and over with his left hand, until he had no need for his right.

Jaime had no sword with which to practice the proper weight. Widow’s Wail hand been lost to him. Its absence brought a palpable pain with the thought of its partner blade, Brienne’s own Oathkeeper. Once part of the same great weapon, it had been his connection to her, and would have given him such peace at the thought of Widow’s Wail calling for the very blade even now hanging at Brienne’s side. Even in its absence, Jaime held fast to the sensation that something somewhere still connected his heart with hers.

Jaime strengthened his muscles, even as his heart remained shattered. He told himself that leaving Brienne had been the right thing to do. He realized the duty he thought he owed to an unborn child who had been lie was the cruelest of hoaxes, and one for which he had fallen without question. He regretted having been so gullible. However, his determination to keep Brienne protected from Cersei’s wrath and gluttony for power was the only sacrifice he could have made for the woman he truly loved. He tried to make himself believe there was honor in it, and attempted to accept the path he had chosen. But Jaime’s thoughts would dwell on Brienne, and his love for her. Once more he would slip into despair, wanting desperately to see her face, to hold her in his arms, to kiss her soft lips. Brienne was the only reason he even stirred in his tiny cell.

Everyday Tyrion would visit, and each time Jaime would ask the question his heart needed answered the most. “Tyrion.” He would call, as his brother rose to leave. Lately, he noticed a heavy sigh settling over Tryion’s chest as if he were anticipating Jaime’s inquiry. “What of Brienne?” Jaime would plead desperately.

For so long, Tyrion’s said nothing. He simply turned and left Jaime alone with his dread, certain the silence meant that something unspeakable had befallen his beloved, the woman for whom he had sacrificed everything, although she did not know it.

Finally, one late evening after Tyrion had taken dinner with his brother in the tiny desolate chamber that was now his home, Jaime posed the issue again.

“You ask of Brienne.” Tyrion remarked coldly, “Yet, inquire not at all after our sister, the one for whom you left Brienne.” His scolding tone, was meant not in the defense of Cersei. Word had been received from Winterfell, only a few days prior, that his nephew had been born. Tryion resented vehemently that Jaime had not been there to comfort Brienne, to see his son enter the world. “Why do you ask after Brienne, yet not about Cersei?” His tone was mockingly austere.

“I already know. She’s dead.” Jaime said, as if it meant nothing to him.

Tyrion was relieved that at least she had not been turned into some worshipped martyr in Jaime’s mind. In fact there seemed little concern, if any at all, in Jaime about their sister. Tyrion was glad of that. “Yes. She is.” Was all he said, as he walked toward the door.

Jaime leaned forward, if Tyrion had been any nearer, he would have grabbed his brother’s wrist and fallen to his knees, begging. “Please, tell me of Brienne.” Jaime implored. “I need to know.” He cared not that he sounded as if sobs could escape his throat at any moment.

To his shock, this time, Tyrion did not flee. He turned a sadly compassionate eye toward Jaime. “She is well,” was all he said before leaving Jaime to his racing thoughts.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion brings Brienne a heartfelt offer. Bran suggests a course of action to Tyrion. Brienne faces her past to secure her child’s future.

Within a moon of making the decision to accept King Bran’s appointment as Lord Commander of his Kingsguard, Brienne found herself awakening within the expanse of her new quarters in the White Sword Tower of the Red Keep. She and Galladon were quickly settling into their new life in Kings Landing. The tower that housed the guard had been partially rebuilt after the destruction waged by Daenarys Targaryen’s dragon. One entire side of the ancient structure had been almost completely obliterated. The Lord Commander’s apartments had sustained the worst of the damage, and required the most extensive repairs. Holding Galladon close to her as she surveyed the chambers, Brienne was thankful she would not need to take up residence within the rooms that had actually belonged to Jaime when he held the position. She had forced herself not to dwell upon the knowledge that the Red Keep was where he died. Living with his son, in the very rooms once occupied by him would have been too much to bear. She could not even bring herself to walk near the stairway that led to the lower foundations in the main part of the castle. She doubted she would ever have the courage to look upon place he had been killed.

‘Killed holding Cersei in his arms.’ Brienne sighed to herself in disgust. She imagined his calm fulfillment in that moment, undoubtedly relieved that it was not her to whom he was pledging his life. She rolled her eyes at her own thoughts. ‘Assuredly, you were the farthest thing from his mind, Beauty of Tarth.’ She told herself bitterly.

As if sensing his mother’s distraction, Galladon wriggled in her arms, and began to whine to break his fast. Brought back to her child’s present need, Brienne gasped. She had not realized the hours had passed so quickly. Without delay, she seated herself on the bed. Her new armor was still being wrought, and she wore only her gray leather gambeson, which made slipping herself from its confines much easier. Brienne soon found herself soothed like her infant as the boy settled against her and nursed contentedly. She was quite surprised that here in this bustling place, beginning a whole new chapter in their lives, with so much new and exciting, that together they fell into their same comforting patterns. So much had changed, yet Galladon was her constant source of peace and happiness.

Queen Sansa had seen to it that they travel to Kings Landing with no less than a garrison of men to accompany them, including Ser Podrick. Sansa had insisted that the troops were being to sent to bolster Bran’s army in King’s Landing. However, Brienne could tell that their presence along her journey was to ensure the safety of a new mother and her child from the dangers of the highway. It was a precaution for which Brienne would be eternally beholden to The Queen in the North. She could easily fight off even a group of ill-intentioned outlaws. However, with a babe in tow, she was glad she had not needed to. A smile brightened her face at the thought of The Queen in the North. Brienne realized that the grin which danced upon her lips was also because of the excitement of a new beginning.

Galladon stirred as Brienne gazed at him. He had finished from her, and was looking up into her face with a delightful smile. She bent her neck to nuzzle his nose, and lost herself imagining the future they would share as her little boy grew. Her joyous loving laughter rang through the Lord Commander’s chambers. Brienne tightened her gambeson once more, and without realizing, she began softly singing a sweet lullaby with which her father had serenaded her as a child.

Mother and babe strolled out upon the terrace, a new and lavish feature of the refurbished chamber. The stone balcony overlooked the training yard, and was meant to be used to review the troops when the Lord Commander was otherwise occupied with duties. It promised, however, to be a personal retreat for the new commandant and her child.

Brienne walked with Galladon into the warm morning sunshine. She halted halfway toward the railing, the familiar aroma of salt air playing with her senses. She breathed deeply and peered thoughtfully at her surroundings. Upon her face, Brienne wore a look of satisfied anticipation.

Brienne kissed her babe’s soft sweet head, and sighed heartily at the sheer joy of him. “Well, what do you think, Little One?” She smiled . “Are we going to be happy here?” Brienne asked, intensely interested in his opinion. At that moment, as if to signal the affirmative to his mother, Galladon cooed playfully. Brienne held him closer, thrilled that he seemed to agree. “Good things are going to happen for us here.” She promised him. “I can feel it.” Brienne declared.  
——————————  
A soft knocking at her door brought Brienne from her thoughts of the future. With Galladon resting peacefully against her, she went to meet whomever was calling upon her. She opened the entrance to her quarters softly and found the face of Tyrion Lannister staring amiably up at her.

Brienne stiffened at the sight of her son’s uncle. “Lord Tyrion.” She announced formally.

“Lord Commander.” Tyrion bowed his head in respect. As he lifted his eyes his gaze fell upon the profile of tiny Galladon, held protectively in Brienne’s arms. He smiled easily, but quickly returned his attention back to the child’s mother. It was her good graces he sought this day. He rung the tension from his hands as he began his tactful prodding. “I was hoping I could speak to you regarding a rather, delicate matter.” He said, choosing his words carefully.

Drawing in a cautious, and apprehensive breath, Brienne could conjure no reason to refuse his request. She knew that it was important to remain civil to the Hand of the King, even if he was Jaime’s brother, and even if she suspected his impetus for seeking her this day had more to do with her son, than with matters of the realm. Without a word, Brienne lowered her chin and backed away from the door, granting him admittance to her residence.

Tyrion stepped a few paces into the room as Brienne closed the door. He stood nervously as she circled slowly to face him. “What is it you wish to discuss, My Lord?” She asked wearily.

Clearing his throat, Tyrion decided to be direct. “I was hoping you would allow me a glimpse of my nephew.” Her told her. His tone hopeful. “Your babe, is my nephew, is he not?” He questioned knowingly.

Brienne only eyed him in response. Her stare was piercing, yet her stomach churned with dread. She did not confirm his assumptions, but her silence did not deny them either. Of course he was correct, and she knew that he knew.

Her lack of response caused Tyrion to rethink his phrasing. “Forgive me.” He begged. “I did not mean to cast aspersions against your character.” Tyrion stammered. “I was not my intent to suggest that you, and others...” His cheeks reddened with embarrassment. He was mortified at his inability to find the right words. Brienne was unmoving.

Tyrion halted, took a deep breath, and began again. “That is, I know that you and Jaime were close at Winterfell.” He winced at describing the deep love he knew Brienne had shared with Jaime in such casual terms. “It is clear that he is the father of your child.” Tyrion acknowledged, warmly. He understood how difficult the matter must be for her.

“The details of my son’s lineage is not a topic open to discussion.” Brienne said shortly.

Tyrion nodded. “Forgive me for prying.” He asked, becoming silent and pensive, studying the floor. When he looked up, Brienne was taken aback by the earnestness that rested upon his features. “Please.” He stated simply, hopefully. “Might I look upon him?” His eyes almost misted with emotion.

Brienne took pity upon Tyrion in that moment. She had not been the only one who lost Jaime, and she knew what it was to be last living sibling of your line. Brienne sighed, and turned her child around in her arms to face his uncle. She bent slightly to allow Tyrion a clearer view. He peered at the boy’s large blue eyes as they blinked widely at him. The child took his breath away. Save for those eyes, which the babe had obviously inherited from his mother, even in infancy Galladon was the spitting image of Jaime. More than anything, he longed to admit the truth, that the babe’s father was alive and only just a short walk away. Instead, he began to weave his case in Jaime’s favor.

“It is your son’s parentage of which I must speak.” Tyrion admitted.

“I do not see how that is any of your business.” Brienne answered abruptly, straightening and clutching her child closer to her.

Tyrion all but ignored her indignation, and continued. “What Jaime did to you, to him, was abominable.” He declared. “I would like legitimize Galladon.” He stared hopefully at Brienne. “I beg you to allow me to right my brother’s wrong, and give your child the Lannister name.” Tyrion beseeched.

“My son has a name.” Brienne shot back angrily. “He is of Tarth.” She said proudly.

Tyrion could hold no longer to cordiality. His wish was far too important. “He is the heir to Casterly Rock.” He reminded. “It is his birthright.” He proclaimed.

“My son is the heir of Evenfall.” Brienne answered nobly. “He will someday be the Evenstar. That is his birthright.” She countered. “I mean no offense, Lord Tyrion, but Lannister is the last title by which I would wish for my son to be known.” Brienne was unsure if she was able to hide the hurt in her tone.

“But, My Lady...” Tyrion was near desperation.

Almost, as Brienne’s reprieve, their conversation was interrupted by a timid knock. She let out a grateful sigh, and practically raced to the door. She swung the panel open and found Septa Vaele waiting timidly on the other side. The young girl had only just taken her vows, and had been charged with watching over young Galladon when Brienne’s duties called her away from her infant son. Brienne smiled and bid the girl to enter.

Turning to Tyrion, Brienne took the opportunity to extricate herself from his offerings. “Please accept my wishes for my child, and do not speak of this matter again.” She demanded, sternly. “If you will excuse me, My Lord, I must instruct the Septa on my son’s care for the day, and then see to my duties.” With that, Brienne ended his debating.

Everything within him wanted to remain and argue his point, but Tyrion realized it would do no good. He lowered his head in defeat. He could see that no amount of pressing or cajoling would change her mind. He felt as though he had failed Jaime, yet again, but conceded to Brienne’s request. “Lord Commander.” He nodded, and then turned on his heels and left her quarters in disappointment.

Brienne stood watching after him for a moment, unable to find breath. Just as her heart began to shatter, and the tears inched their way up the back of her throat, Brienne once again chased thoughts of Jaime from her mind. She forced a deep breath, and snapped her attention back to the matter at hand. She gave Septa Vaele a masking smile, and gently laid Galladon into the girl’s arms.

“I shall be in The Round Room tending to Guard matters should he need me.” Brienne told the girl as she nestled Galladon into her cradling grasp. Septa Vaele nodded her understanding.

“Put him down to nap, and bring him to me for his midday feeding when he awakens.” Brienne instructed. She had refused to employ a wet nurse, preferring to see to the care of her child herself, and Galladon was quickly becoming a common sight throughout the White Sword Tower as well as the Training Grounds.

“Yes, My Lady.” Septa Vaele answered.

“Lord Commander.” Brienne corrected kindly, but firmly. She had earned that title.

“Lord Commander.” The girl bowed, acknowledging Brienne’s authority.  
———————————  
Tyrion was deep in thought as he made his way through the shining halls of the Red Keep, returning to his quarters in the Tower of the Hand. The disappointment of Brienne’s refusal to allow him to legitimize her son, gnawed at him. His only wish was to give Jaime’s child all that he deserved. Tyrion’s scowl would have made it seem that he resented his new position as King Bran’s advisor. However, Tyrion’s almost perpetual sour mood was far from the result of his new appointment. He was happy to be of help in the rebuilding of Westeros, but his mind had been consumed with Jaime’s care for nearly a year. Tyrion could not help but recall the day he had found Jaime, somehow still alive in the crumbled foundations of the Keep, Cersei’s crushed corpse lying lifeless beside him.

Tyrion would never know where he found the strength to pull Jaime from the heap of bricks and dust, nor how he was able to haul his brother as far as he had. A healer’s hovel would have been a much better option than the tiny billet in the only portion of the Keep’s outer wall, near the White Sword Tower, that looked as if it still stood a chance of remaining erect. He had managed to keep secret the fact that Jamie was alive and mending in a forgotten, unvisited corner of the fortress. Each day as he trekked there, Tyrion was certain he would find Jaime succumbed to his injuries. Much to his relief, his fears were assuaged as Jaime fought for his life. It was as if some force was driving him toward strength, toward life. Tyrion knew it was Jaime’s love for Brienne.

Over the long months, Tyrion saw to every aspect of his brother’s recovery, fearful that any moment might have seen Jaime’s mortality. Now, that death no longer loomed over the elder Lannister, Tyrion was faced with the quandary of how to reintroduce Jaime to the world of the living. He could not keep the man locked away forever. He knew his brother already felt like a prisoner. His full health close to being restored, Tyrion could not tell how long it would be before Jaime found his own way out of his refuge.

Tyrion’s dilemma had suddenly been made even more complicated by the arrival of Brienne, with Jaime’s son. He knew it was only a matter of time before they came face to face, Jaime would see to that. Tyrion understood how much Jaime loved Brienne, that was clear from the way he looked at her at Winterfell. There was no way he would ever believe that his brother had wanted to abandon Brienne. Although they had not spoken of it, Tyrion realized what fate would have befallen Jaime’s lover if Cersei had learned the truth. He knew Jaime had left in order to keep Brienne safe. Now, it was a forgone conclusion that once Jaime learned Brienne was near, there would be no stopping him from getting to her. He would be unable to stay away.

Tyrion’s thoughts swirled, as his path led him across the courtyard. He did not even see The King being escorted through the grounds by Ser Podrick Payne and several guards. Tyrion had almost reached his targeted doorway when he was summoned from his worries by Bran’s call.

“My Lord, Tyrion.” Bran beckoned, from several paces away.

Tyrion stopped in his tracks. He knew his duty was do the King’s bidding, but he had plans to make. With a sigh he hoped Bran did not see, Tyrion understood his designs would need to wait. He lifted his head and painted a cheerful smile over his face. “Your Grace.” He said surprised, as he turned. “Forgive me. I was deep in thought.” He explained as fast as he could.

“No doubt, already worried over the good of the realm.” Bran smiled distantly. A choked and nervous clearing of his throat was Tyrion’s only answer.

“Might I have a word?” Bran contiued.

“Of course, Your Grace.” Tyrion complied.

Bran motioned for Podrick to wheel him under a shaded portico, and the bid him to wait a short distance away. With a bow, Ser Podrick did as he was asked. Tyrion followed the King into the breezeway, wondering what business Bran had for him, and how that might change his own for the care of his brother. Bran motioned for his Hand to sit on a low bench next to him. Again, Tyrion complie, and waited for Bran to begin.

After a long moment, the King finally spoke. “It is a wonder how quickly The Keep has been rebuilt, is it not?” Bran asked, almost casually.

Tyrion nodded. “Yes. It certainly is.” He concurred. “The finest artisans and craftsmen in the six kingdoms have been laboring day and night to make it ready for you.” He reported proudly.

Bran surveyed the environs. “They have done wonders.” He agreed. “Of course there is still that part of the old wall, near the White Sword Tower, that will need refurbishing.” He commented.

Tyrion’s blood chilled. “Yes. Your Grace.” He cleared his throat, nervously. The still damaged portion of which Bran spoke was exactly the part of the castle where Tyrion had hidden Jaime these many months.

“That does mean you will need to find new lodging for your brother.” Bran informed him, his tone not changing.

There seemed no air in Tyrion’s lungs as he struggled to find breath. Had Bran known all along? “Your Grace?” He questioned, trying to sound innocent.

Bran held up his hand to quiet any further attempts by Tyrion to deny the truth. “I know you have been hiding Ser Jaime there.” Bran revealed. “That you have been seeing to his recovery.” He said without judgement.

“Your Grace, I...” Tyrion’s brain spun to find a plausible denial, or least an excuse.

“Lord Tyrion.” Bran interrupted him. “There is no need to be conciliatory, nor is there any cause for distress.” He said assuredly. “You have done nothing that I would not have done for my own dear brothers.” Bran face saddened at the thought. “If I could have.” He finished, his voice falling.

For some reason, Tyrion still felt the need to explain himself. He eyed the ground, nervously. “It was not my intention to deceive you.” Tyrion explained. “It was as far as I could manage to get him, after I discovered his mangled body still breathing in the rubble.” He shuddered. “I am aware of your history with my brother, Your Grace.” Tyrion reddened to reveal his knowledge that Jaime had been the one who pushed Bran from the tower at Winterfell. Crippling the boy for life.

“Ser Jaime and I reached an understanding about the past at upon his arrival in the North.” Bran confided. “There is no resentment. Neither of us would be the men we are today if it had not happened.” He affirmed.

“I did not know if you would be accepting of him here.” Tyrion felt as though he were rambling, as if he needed to beg Bran’s forgiveness, and his benevolence.

“Please, do not apologize, My Lord.” The King assured him. “You have been a good brother, and you have harmed no one.” He said sincerely. “Ser Jaime is a good man. He is more than welcome here.” Bran almost smiled. “He deserves better than what was dealt to him.” Bran declared.

“Yes. He does.” Tyrion agreed bitterly.

“He is very nearly mended from his injuries.” Bran acknowledged. Tyrion was confounded he had not realized that of course The Three Eyed Raven would have been aware of all that occurred in the Realm, and especially within The Red Keep.

“I do not believe that Ser Jaime can stay in that tiny cell for much longer, however.” Bran suggested. “Especially now, that Ser Brienne has taken up residence in The Keep, with their child.” He said thoughtfully, again revealing facts not commonly known.

Tyrion cocked his head to one side, and raised his brow. “Jaime does not exactly know that part.” He admitted.

“You did not tell him she would be arriving to assume her duties as Lord Commander?” Bran played along with Tyrion’s charade.

“No. I did not.” Tyrion admitted, and took a deep guilty breath. “He also does not know about the babe.” Tyrion revealed, almost holding his breath in embarrassment. Then he lifted his head, in recognition. “But of course you knew that.” He said rhetorically. “Just as you knew of his presence here.” Tyrion smiled in amazement.

“Yes.” Bran said. “I also know that he was never supposed to come back here.” His tone grew so serious, it worried Tyrion. “He was never supposed to return to your sister.” Bran went on. “His destiny was to stay with Ser Brienne. They were always meant to be together.” He proclaimed.

Tyrion eyed Bran incredulously. “Why do I get the feeling this subject has greater importance than a simple coupling?” He inquired.

Bran nodded as if he were seeing something before his eyes, that Tyrion could not discern. “All things work together in ways we cannot always see, to bring about a greater good.” His words were wise, well beyond his years. “Their ‘coupling’, as you call it, will have a immense impact upon Westeros for generations to come.” Bran promised. Tyrion stood wide-eyed beside him.

“However, first we must find a way to bring them together again.” Bran reminded him.

Tyrion contemplated Bran’s words. “From what I understand through my corresponding with your sister, Queen Sansa, Ser Brienne’s current opinion of my brother will make that most difficult.” He warned.

“That is to be expected. After all, he did break her heart, and then left to bear his child alone.” Bran said sympathetically.

“It will take a monumental effort.” Tyrion sighed at the task ahead.

“Wothwhile tasks are seldom easy.” Bran encouraged. “Perhaps you should start by informing Ser Jaime that he has a son.” He suggested. “Perhaps it is time Ser Jaime and Ser Brienne renewed their acquaintance.” He regarded Tyrion to see if his meaning was understood. Tyrion nodded his affirmative. Then Bran motioned to his guards that their talk was through.  
———————————  
Brienne tried to swallow the anger of Tyrion’s visit, and the guilt of leaving her child as she stormed through the corridor. The interrogation from Jaime’s apparently well meaning brother, and his misguided offer of legitimacy was the very last thing she needed. She would do anything to keep the world from suspecting the truth about Galladon's father. It was bad enough that Tyrion knew. She was fairly certain that she had not heard the last of his intent. Her resolve on the issue would never waver.

Brienne’s stride slowed as her heart finally stopped racing. Against her wishes, her mind traveled to a place she did not want it to go. She wondered at what it might have been. What if there were no need to legitimize her son, if the rights of his father’s sir name had truly been his from his from the day he was born? If Jaime had not left, would he have claimed their son? Would they have married? It was useless to contemplate things that never happened. She was all Galladon had, as he was to her.

Her anger cooled, but longing gripped her heart like a vice, and this time it was not for Jaime. Brienne did not think she would ever get used to the empty feeling that crawled into the pit of her stomach each time she walked away from her little boy. Of course, her duties were of the utmost importance to her and she never neglected them. However, it was her son that often consumed her thoughts. She did not feel whole when she was away from him.

Before she realized it, Brienne had descended the stairs that led to The Round Room and was standing in front of weirwood table it contained, still contemplating her babe. With a deep breath, she refocused her thoughts and seated herself in The Lord Commander’s Chair. From nowhere, another image found her notice, a memory. She did not understand why. She had been in this room as Lord Commander a number of times since her arrival, and it had not crossed her mind. Perhaps it was the notion of her son which had preoccupied her mind. It could have been her apprehension at leaving in the past so much of what came before. Maybe it was the way Oathkeeper shone on the table where she had laid the precious weapon, much like the first time she had it. Something brought him to her mind, and she suddenly saw so clearly the moment Jaime had gifted her with the magnificent sword. It was in that very room.

Her mind again, visited the moment. Brienne felt her pride at the quest with which Jaime had tasked her. She saw his face, so filled with belief in her. She felt the unspoken heaviness of the feelings between them. Brienne, once more, recalled how she had loved him. How she still loved him.

As if to chase the images from her thoughts, Brienne stood with a force so strong she nearly knocked over the chair upon which she had been seated. Another idea entered her awareness. Almost a premonition. She heard the words she feared the most. ‘Kingslayer’s Bastard.’ She had tried to tell herself it would never happen, but deep down she knew that someday her child, his child, would hear those very words. It was a threat Brienne would not allow, not if she could do something about it.

Brienne stared at the heavy volume across the table. The White Book. The Book of Brothers. The record of all of the greatest knights in Westeros. Jaime was in those pages. She never wanted to open it, never wanted to look upon his story. She knew it held little of the man she had known, the man she had loved. It was a shockingly sparse account of all he had done. Brienne feared it was a record that would haunt her own child. Numbly, she pulled the book toward her and sat back down. The air left her lungs as she opened the volume to Jaime Lannister’s page.

Brienne stared at it for a long moment, fighting the same tears she had wept upon learning of Jaime’s death. The same longing filled her heart as when she had given birth to his son. Now, she would give his child the gift he could not. Forcing the trembling from her hand, Brienne reached for the quill that rested in the ink well. She dipped the point, and dabbed off the extra ink. This had to be perfect. With a deep breath, Brienne swallowed her weeping and penned the words to complete Jaime’s story.

The strokes flew from her quill like water, the ink the teardrops she would not shed. Her words paid him homage, honored him, and painted him the hero she knew he was. She could never deny him that. He had earned an honorable remembrance. This and his son were the only gifts she could give him now, even if he had not wanted her. They were an endowment for her child. She would present to the world, a father of whom he could be proud.

Brienne paused over the final line, unsure of the sentiment she should write. She had described him in the most glowing light. If it could, the world would weigh the abomination of his sins upon his living babe. Brienne's attempt was to ensure that never happened. She had seen to it that posterity would remember Jaime’s victories, and that history would forget his weaknesses. The last thing he had done was to give his life trying to save the woman for whom he had left her. His lover, the mother of his first children, his own sister. The evil monster who had wanted him dead, and had been his abuser for the whole of his life. The one who had held power over him that he could not fight. Brienne’s eyes filled with tears at the thought. The one who had taken him from her.

She would not join his name with Cersei’s in the remembrance of his life. Brienne would jealously hold on to him that way. This was Jaime’s story, and it was hers. She had been at his side during most of the moments she described. She would stay there with him, unseen, in the pages of The White Book. It would be her life with him that the future would know, not Cersei’s. With a brave sigh, Brienne’s quill moved slowly across the page, and she penned his last line.

‘Died protecting his Queen.’ Was all she wrote.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion finally tells Jaime of the son Brienne had bore him.

Jaime eyed Tyrion over the cup of weak wine, sausage, and crust of bread he had been brought to break his fast. Tyrion had made haste to his brother’s quarters directly following his talk with the King. He knew not how he would convey all that King Bran wished for Jaime to hear, but assumed that it would all be known by the time their conversation was over. So he had gathered a meal and a bundle of fresh clothing, and headed for the ruined part of the White Sword Tower. It was not a talk to which he was looking forward.

“In what dilapidated, forgotten corner of Casterly Rock have you got me?” Jaime leered harshly at his brother.

Tyrion drank slowly from his own goblet, trying to forestall the conversation he feared was inevitable. “We are not on The Rock.” He answered lowly, almost emotionless, taking another swallow for good measure.

Jaime’s brow shot upward accusingly. He had assumed Tyrion would have ensured he be held somewhere no one would pose questions. “Where then?” He asked dryly. “Not Winterfell surely. It’s not nearly that cold.” His smirk came out more hateful than he intended.

Tyrion stared at Jaime indignantly. “Just how far do you think me capable of dragging you?” He questioned.

Jaime’s eyes widened as he comprehended Tyrion’s meaning. “I am still in Kings Landing?” He gasped. Tyrion raised his brow in sarcastic reply, his face conveying more than he spoke.

Jaime could still read him like a parchment. “The Keep?” He leaned forward in disbelief. “You have kept me in the Red Keep this whole time?” He was shocked.

“Hidden you.” Tyrion corrected.

Jaime chuckled bitterly. “Is my situation that dire?” He asked. “Is there a price on my head?” The thought did not alarm him as it once would have.

Tyrion shook his head and laughed. “No. Happily, the news of your resurrection has been better welcomed than I had anticipated.” He relayed. “I had feared you would be held culpable for Cersei’s crimes.” Tyrion explained. “However, King Bran was quite amenable to your remaining here in The Keep. In fact, he wishes you moved to more appropriate accommodations.” Tyrion told him.

“King? Bran?” Jaime wondered. His look warmed remembered the boy’s reception of him at Winterfell. He imagined the kind and understanding ruler the young Stark would become. “Apparently much has changed since my death.” He remarked.

Tyrion sighed deeply. “You have no idea.” He agreed.

Jaime noted the sarcasm in Tyrion’s voice, but let it pass. “Just how long have I been in exile?” He asked, part of him wanted to laugh, but most was concerned at the time that had passed. He had lost track of fortnights. Entire moons had come and gone without his notice.

“Almost a year.” Tyrion reported.

Jaime sat pensively. “A year?” He repeated in a whisper, his breath leaving his lungs. His mind turned over the possible paths Brienne’s life could have taken in such a time. He had to know.

“Level with me, Brother.” Jaime’s tone was deadly serious. “You have expressed to me that Brienne is well, but nothing more.” His eyes were pained. “Please, tell me where she is? Still guarding Queen Sansa at Winterfell?” His tone was hopeful. At least there, he figured she would be safe.

“No, Jaime. She is not at Winterfell.” Tyrion shook his head, and studied the space between them.

Fear began to build behind Jaime’s eyes. He would never believe that Brienne would foresake her duty. He could think of only one place more dear to her than Winterfell. “Evenfall? She has returned to her father’s house.” He offered, hopefully. She would no doubt be even more protected there. Tyrion replied with simply the shake of his head, unable to meet Jaime’s hopeful gaze.

Both of the best options denied, Jaime’s thoughts raced to determine where else she might be. Finally, reluctantly, another scenario formed behind his eyes. He remembered how that Wildling, Tormund Giantsbane, had set his sites on Brienne and done his best to garner her attentions and her affection. Had he succeeded in Jaime’s absence? Had he won Brienne’s heart? It was a possibility Jaime did not wish to contemplate.

Jaime stared blankly ahead of him, and voiced his fears. “Beyond The Wall?” He stammered, swallowing hard.

Tyrion was quick to assuage his brother’s fear, understandingly the reference. “No.” He answered, happy to give Jaime at least that much peace. “She is here.” Tyrion responded, his words barely portraying the monumental importance of his news.

“Here? In Kings Landing?” Jaime held his breath, unable to believe she was so near. Then a thousand questions entered his mind. There was only one he could voice. “Why?” He could not fathom that Brienne of Tarth would quit her oath to House Stark. Or had they quit her? What had it been like for her at Winterfell after he left? He felt hollow at the thought that he was to blame.

“I dishonored her.” Jaime said, guilt in his tone. “She has been turned out by Queen Sansa.” He conjectured. “And by her father, as well.” His face drained of color.

Tyrion studied him, noting the dire dread with which he contemplated his interpretation of Brienne’s fate. He shook his head to relieve Jaime’s fear. “No. She has not.” Tyrion shook his head. “Quite the contrary.” His expression softened. “Ser Brienne’s true friends and her father rallied around her in her time of...” He trailed of, not wishing to broach the truth that way. “After you left.” He finished, vaguely.

Jaime’s face grew even more confused. “I do not understand.” He questioned. “Yet, she is in the Capital?” He struggled to find a reason to explain her change in circumstance.

Tyrion sighed, remembering his conversation with King Bran not an hour before. If Jaime was to learn the truth, now was as good a time as any, and better he learn it from someone who cared for him. “She is here...in the Keep.” Tyrion corrected.

Jaime’s eyes registered a moment of shock, not imagining that the woman he loved was so close to him. “What?” He questioned incredulously, certain he had heard Tyrion incorrectly.

Tyrion did not answer, but merely stared, acknowledging the truth of his revelation through his silence. Jaime understood that his brother would never weave a falsehood about something so dear to him. As realization sank in, Jaime’s expression softened, as if he were almost beginning to feel Brienne through some type of bond. His heart felt as though she were just on the other side of his door. Every part of him yearned to run out of the room in search of her.

“Brienne is here?” Jaime repeated Tyrion’s words in a whisper. “How? Why?” He was desperate to learn all that had transpired to bring her to Kings Landing. As the news sunk in Jaime’s anger rose, not only for the time he had stolen from himself and Brienne, but at Tyrion for keeping him a virtual prisoner when she was but mere paces away.

“Brienne has been named Lord Commander of King Bran’s Kingsguard.” Tyrion informed him.

Jaime inhaled sharply, imagining how perfect Brienne would be in that role. “I could not be pressed to name any better in all the kingdoms to assume those duties.” Jaime said proudly. He knew how much it must have meant to Brienne. His heart soared at the thought of her in the golden armor of the Lord Commander. Then he looked at Tyrion earnestly. It was clear in Jaime’s eyes that he loved Brienne.

“The King knows I am here. He wishes my return to the open, and she is residing in The Keep. Why have you kept me locked away all this time?” Jaime voice was dry and suspicious. He did not realize his fist curled like talons around the cup of wine he held.

Tyrion took a steadying sip from his own goblet. “Brienne has only just arrived in the city, and King Bran’s knowledge has only just recently been made known to me.” He explained. “I had no way of knowing how you would be received.” He confessed.

“Am I now a traitor?” Jaime’s scoff was met by a glaring unapologetic look from Tyrion.

“You did not only abandon Brienne when you left Winterfell.” Tyrion said seriously, noting how Jaime’s jaw clenched at his description. “Remember, you arrived in the North and begged to be trusted.” He recounted. “If not for Brienne vouching for you, on her honor, you might have been executed then and there.” He spoke plainly. “Only to throw aside any loyalty you had to House Stark, or that you promised to Daenarys Targaryen, and return to Cersei.” He accused.

“Daenarys Targaryen is the reason I have been in this room for almost a year.” Jaime’s voice rose with his anger. “I came close to death because of her.” He choked.”She is the one who marched upon Kings Landing. It was her dragon that destroyed The Keep.” He listed, finally roaring his anger at Tyrion like the dragon fire which nearly took his life. “She is the reason I was forced to leave the woman I love.” His face was pained and his eyes grew distant remembering Brienne’s tears when he rode away.

Tyrion leaned forward, his expression severe. “Your actions are why you presently find yourself in this situation.” He forced Jaime to see the truth. The older Lannister could not argue. “As for breaking Brienne’s heart, you did that, and you did it for Cersei.” Tyrion shot back.

Jaime shook his head vigorously. “No.” He declared. “I did not leave Brienne for Cersei.” He lamented. “I left her because of Cersei.” He rued bitterly.

“That is what I do not understand?” Tyrion answered. “You say you loved Brienne...” He began.

“I do love her.” Jaime corrected abruptly.

Tyrion looked at him quizzically. “Tell me, then, why did you leave her?” He entreated.

Jaime stared at Tyrion in disbelief. “Surely, you know why.” He answered incredulously.

Tyrion was silent for a moment, contemplating what he understood was the truth. He then nodded solemnly. “Cersei would have known.” He offered.

Jaime too, gestured his affirmative. “And she would have killed Brienne.”  
“Queen Sansa informed me that Cersei’s troops had ambushed Daenarys’s armada.” He continued. “By the time I left Winterfell, Cersei was well on her way to victory.” He spoke as if in a stupor, remembering how he had watched the vision of Brienne sleeping that night, and had been terrified for her safety. “There would have been nowhere Brienne could have escaped her wrath. Our sister would have tortured her, slaughtered her.” Jaime’s heart shattered as if it had happened just the way he was describing. “And she would have made me watch.” He exhaled deeply, the breath draining from his lungs. “I could not let that happen. Not when I was the only one who could stop it.” His eyes grew wet with tears at the vision his mind did not want to see.

“You truly do love Brienne.” Tyrion stated in awe. Jaime had loved Brienne enough to give her up.

Jaime nodded sadly. “With all my heart.” He affirmed.

“Surely you could have protected Brienne at Winterfell.” Tyrion protested.

Jaime regarded him with sad eyes. “Cersei sent Bronn to kill you and me, and he managed to find us there.” He reminded Tyrion. “The only reason Bronn did not take our heads, is because the man is an opportunist.” Jaime almost chuckled.

For a faint moment, the shadow of humor crossed Tyrion’s face as well. “Bronn is always on the look out for the better offer.” He almost complimented.

Jaime returned to the seriousness of their topic. “There was no place Cersei’s reach did not extend. She would have found Brienne.” He seemed to shrink in defeat.

“I fear you were correct.” Tyrion agreed.

“And there was another, who did not deserve to be subjected to her evil.” Jaime grew emotionless. “I had a duty to the child she carried, to protect it, from her.” He said with regret.

Tyrion’s sigh was as lifeless as his brother’s. “Jaime.” He interrupted, it seemed his unfortunate duty to bear the news of what had been discovered of their sister’s falsehood.

Jaime held up his hand. He had already deduced what Tyrion had to report. “I know.” He voiced mournfully, not for the child that did not exist, he was already father to two souls protected from her in the Heavens. He was almost relieved that Myrcella and Tommen would never be marred by their mother’s monstrous evil. He understood that there had never been hope for Joffrey, and that he would be Cersei’s companion in the Hells. Perhaps it was better that no other living babe would be corrupted by Cersei’s treachery. Jaime grieved that it was his fear for the child who had been a lie, that had been part of the reason he left Brienne.

“I was a moon on the road each time, to and from Winterfell.” He stared ahead into the fire. “I spent another glorious turn in Brienne’s arms there.” Jaime almost smiled at the memory. “Cersei had to have been at least that far along when she told me, before I left for the North.” His sweet regard at the thought of Brienne was replaced by a mask of cold hate. “Yet when I reached her upon my return, her belly was flat as the day I left. I knew the moment I saw her.” He admitted. “It was a lie.” Jaime said in disgust. He drank greedily from his cup, trying to wash down the taste of betrayal.

Jaime’s cold expression was unchanged as he went on. “She saw us at the Dragon Pit, Brienne and me.” He explained. “She saw the way we looked at each other.” His countenance softened at the mention of Brienne. “Cersei had to have realized my heart belonged to another.” He supposed. “She must have thought it was the only way to keep me.” Jaime’s bitter look returned as he watched the flames.

Tyrion joined Jaime in his study of the hearth. “The maester examined every inch of Cersei’s body, inside and out, before they laid her upon the pyre.” He described. “There was never any babe.” He said, confirming Jaime’s suspensions, his voice trailing off.

Jaime sat for a moment, reflecting upon the news, silently bemoaning the fact that he had ever thought he loved Cersei. It was only now, when he had felt the real affection of a good woman, of Brienne, did he understand that what he had with Cersei was never love. It had only ever been carnal. All those years, Jaime had told himself that it had been love, but it never was. It was never like what he felt, what he had shared with the woman he left, with Brienne.

“There was no limit to the depths of that demon’s evil.” Jaime muttered through gritted teeth. “It is best that she is rotting in some Hell.” He swore, and with that proclamation, he felt a weight lifted from him. At that his entire focus now turned to Brienne, and the almost insurmountable quest to win her back.

Unable to bear sitting any longer, and feeling the walls closing in upon him, Jaime rose and crossed the small distance to the hearth. He leaned his elbow against the stone wall, and settled all of his exhausted weight against it. After a moment, a wry involuntary chuckle left Tyrion’s lips as he considered all that had passed.

Jaime turned hatefully, the flames casting an ominous glare over his features. “I find very little humor in this, Brother.” He told Tyrion angrily.

Tyrion looked up at Jaime soberly. “I assure you, there is nothing I find amusing here.” He corrected Jaime’s misunderstanding. “I am simply marveling at the irony of life.” He explained.

“I know.” Jaime gave an aggravated nod. “How ironic that I left the woman I love, for a lie.” It pained him to give voice to his grave error.

“Yes.” Tyrion agreed. “However, that is not of what I speak.” He began. Jaime only stared him with a confused and furrowed brow.

Tyrion inhaled deeply, and let out the breath slowly. Suddenly, he felt sick. The time had come to tell Jaime of the real babe he had left behind. How could he find words to divulge such knowledge to the child’s father. However, he trudged on, reluctantly. This was what King Bran had asked of him. He would see it through. “The true irony is that while Cersei’s belly did not burgeon with your babe...” He paused. “...Brienne’s did.” Tyrion felt hollow at finally speaking those words.

Jaime stared at Tyrion, his head spinning. The entire world rolled in and out in waves beneath him. Surely he had heard his brother wrong. “What?” He sputtered. “What did you say?” He spoke through a mouth suddenly bone dry, a tongue at once heavy and useless. His eyes were wild, as he clamored for understanding.

By the look on Tyrion’s face, Jaime could tell he had not misunderstood. “Brienne gave birth to your son, at Winterfell, nine moons after you left her.” Tyrion repeated compassionately.

Jaime stumbled to the chair across from Tyrion, he grasped for the arm and missed. Momentum propelling him forward, he turned to sit, the shock of Tyrion’s news still ringing in his ears. His gate and grasp unsteady, his eyes wide with confusion, Jaime’s equilibrium failed as he sat, and he plummeted to floor, landing on his backside with a loud thud. His brain hardly registered the jolt. “Brienne gave... bir... my son.” He struggled to comprehend the entirety of circumstances that swirled in his mind, until finally he realized what it all meant. He had abandoned the woman he loved to carry and birth his child, alone, and he had done it all for a heartless monster and her lie.

Still reeling, Jaime looked up, his eyes not truly seeing. “Oh Tyrion.” He gasped. “What have I done?” He beseeched his brother, as if his sole companion these many months had any answers at all. Tyrion could only study Jaime in sympathy. He had no solutions to give.

Jaime’s mind filled with images of how lovely Brienne must have been, round with his child. They would have shared the joy of feeling their child growing within her. He pictured himself grasping her hand, and whispering encouragement to her as she brought their babe into the world. He had missed all of it. “Is she? Is he? Are they? ... Alright?” He rasped, his voice choked with emotion.

Tyrion spoke softly in reply. “Queen Sansa wrote to me that Brienne endured a very difficult birth, but that the boy was strong and healthy.” He said.

“Difficult?” Jaime repeated in a frenzy, worry consuming him.

Tyrion shook his head remorsefully. “I am sorry. I do not have knowledge of the details.” He apologized. “Only that the Queen herself attended her, and Brienne has been returned to full health.” He tried to give Jaime some relief.

Jaime eyes flickered furiously. “She must be alright. She’s here.” He conjectured. “Have you seen her?” He asked, desperate for news of them.

Tyrion lowered his chin. “I have.” He announced. “She seems fine.” He relayed gladly.

Again, Jaime’s mind searched for coherent thoughts. “Lord Commander?” He spoke the title in dread. He knew that meant her vow would forbid her from raising their child. “Where is the babe? She has been forced to give him up?” He was nearly frantic at the notion.

“No.” Tyrion comforted. “King Bran has changed much.” He said. “Many of the old customs are gone.” He smiled. “The King has allowed Brienne’s babe to remain here with her.” Tyrion imparted.

Relief washed over Jaime. “Thank the Gods.” He sighed heavily. “Have you seen him?” He begged.

Tyrion grew silent, and shadow falling over his face. “I have, he is a fine babe. Extraordinary, one might say.” He beamed. With that declaration his eyes then saddened. “I have only spent a short amount of time with him.” He admitted. “Brienne will not allow me to visit often.” He lamented.

“Will not allow you to visit?” Jaime was baffled. “But, you are his uncle?” He declared. Then it occurred to him, that his child had been born to Brienne out of wedlock. He glared at Tyrion. “Surely, you have legitimized my son.” Jaime criticized.

“I have not.” Tyrion looked down, unable to meet his brother’s eyes. “I offered. Brienne refused.” He explained. “She wishes nothing from our family.” He said, sadly. “Her father has legitimatized the boy. He is of Tarth.” Tyrion detailed.

“There were many who saw us together at Winterfell. It must be known that the boy is my son.” Jaime prodded. “Has she not declared his paternity?” He asked.

Tyrion sighed. “It is my belief that such an acknowledgment is the last thing Brienne wishes known about her child.” He studied his fingers, folded in his lap. “She never speaks of you, Jaime.” Tyrion said, unable to look at his brother.

Jaime’s face grew even more pained and stricken. “She hates me.” He proclaimed, his mood falling even further.

“Could you blame her?” Tyrion replied, bluntly. “You go to her, Knight her, fight by her side, declare yourself to her, and make her think you love her.” Tyrion listed.

“I do love her!” Jaime seethed.

“Even so.” Tyrion wanted to understand. “How does this news comes as such a shock to you?” He questions. “You of all people know that she is as much a woman as any other female. Did you not think it possible for her to conceive a child?” He judged.

“I wasn’t thinking of anything?” Jaime confessed. “Only her.” His voice was tinged with longing, as he thought of Brienne and the family he might have had.

Tyrion considered his declaration. “Be that as it may. You began a relationship with her. You took her maidenhead, and made her think you wish to be with her.” He trudged on, remembering Brienne’s admission of virginity on the evening following the battle. “Then you left her like some whore.” He admonished.

“Do not call her that! She is no whore!” Jaime bellowed, his fists clenched at his sides. “She is the most virtuous, honorable person I have ever known. She was, she is too good for a wretch like me.” His eyes were wistful and distant recalling Brienne, and how he had come to love her more than anything in the world. His love for Brienne had been strong enough to cause him to leave Cersei. He had loved her enough to let her go, when he realized the danger in which he had put her. However, it did not hurt any less. “I too thought we would be together forever. I wanted to make make her my wife.” Jaime’s chest felt hollow as it filled with his desire for Brienne.

Tyrion relented only a bit, seeing Jaime’s agitation. “Of course she is not a whore, but she was treated like one.” He scolded. “Just what do think they call her?” He asked rhetorically.

“Lord Commander. I would hope.” Jaime replied staunchly. He knew that some had called her The Maid of Tarth. He was aware that others had been even more cruel when Brienne was young. He wished he could have cut them all down.

Tyrion’s glance was almost one of disgust as he continued. “The Kingslayer’s Whore, is what they now whisper behind her back.” The words tasted vile in his mouth. “And what do you think they will call your son?” He hurled his interrogation at Jaime vehemently.

Jaime slumped with the weight of Tyrion’s descriptions. His ears echoed as he imagined the cruelty of those who would shout ‘Kingslayer’s Bastard’ at an innocent child. “It is my fault.” He bemoaned. “I did this to her, to them.” He chastised himself, his voice nearly a whimper. “I only meant to keep her safe.” He repeated. “My only thought was to protect her.” Jaime’s regret consumed him.

“Well.” Tyrion reminded him indignantly. “She certainly has a lot more to think about now.” He shamed Jaime, that Brienne was now left to raise their child alone.

Seeing the torment in Jaime’s eyes, Tyrion regretted throwing blame at him like a weapon. “Brienne is an excellent mother.” He attempted to assuage Jaime’s worries, at least somewhat. “Even Cersei, with as much as she loved her children was not as devoted a mother as Brienne.” Tyrion smiled warmly. “That babe is her very world.” He assured Jaime.

“Of that I am certain.” Jaime’s face become soft, imagining Brienne as a mother. His mind tried to conjure a vision of what their son must look like. He hoped the boy had been blessed with Brienne’s beautiful blue eyes.

“What is his name?” Jaime asked, his tone pained.

“Galladon.” Tyrion answered. “Galladon of Tarth.” He said.

“After her brother.” Jaime lamented, nodding in reluctant acceptance. “So, she does not wish any part of me in the child’s life.’ His heart was shattering into a million pieces.

Tyrion sipped his wine pensively. “I would not say that?” He answered.

Jaime eyed him suspiciously. “What do you mean?” He asked, at a loss to determine his brother’s meaning.

It was not just the wine that warmed Tyrion’s spirit as he spoke. There was yet one piece of information that he knew might lift his brother’s heart. As if there might yet be some hope for Jaime in Brienne’s life. “Queen Sansa imparted to me through our correspondence that Galladon is but the child’s middle man.” His eyes flashed knowingly. “The boy’s full name is Jaimes Galladon of Tarth.” He smiled proudly.

Jaime stared dumbfounded, considering the fact that even through her hurt and anger, Brienne had named their child for him. Even if she did not share the boy’s given name with most of the world, his son at least carried that much if him. His breathing calmed a bit, and he allowed himself to believe he could have the chance to fix that which he had broken. Tyrion clambered from his chair and stretched his legs, allowing Jaime a moment to contemplate all they had discussed. He sat his goblet on the rickety table next to them.

The change in Jaime was not lost on Tyrion. “You see.” He suggested as he made his way to the door. “Do not resign yourself to a life of loneliness just yet.” His smile was small, but carried a glimmer of prospect. “You may still be able to win her back. I do believe that somewhere beneath her hurt and fury, Brienne still loves you.” Tyrion told Jaime. He reached the door, and turned the knob. The door slid open quietly, his eyes never straying from Jaime still hunched upon the floor. Without another word, Tyrion left his brother to his tortured thoughts. Jaime’s mind barely registered that he did not hear Tyrion turn the key in the lock to bar him inside.

Jaime did not know how long he sat alone in silence, his heart broken, his mind struggling to grasp what he had learned. Bitter tears streamed down his cheeks. His thoughts were focused only upon Brienne and the son she had bore him. He could not fathom what she had gone through, or what she must think of him. Hers was the only opinion for which Jaime cared in the world, and he had certainly destroyed any good she thought of him. The life he had dreamed of with her was gone, and he would never be whole without her.

Shattered once again, now much worse than any damage the bricks had inflicted upon him. Jaime’s anguished thoughts pivoted around Brienne. He could only conjure visions of what her life had held these past months, and how much she must despise him. “Oh Brienne.” Jaime sobbed. “I’m sorry.” He spoke desperately into the darkness. “My Love. I am so sorry.” Jaime wept uncontrollably.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime finally reveals his presence to Brienne. Her reaction is far from what he had hoped.

Jaime did not know how long he remained crouched upon the stone floor of his chamber, unable to move, bitter tears streaming down his face. All he was aware of was the aching in his heart for Brienne and the son she had given him, whom he did not know. The babe he had never even seen. His shame consumed him. Jaime longed for the things he had missed. He was not there when Brienne discovered she carried his child. There was no father to which she could tell her happy news. He had not watched the belly of the woman he loved grow with the life he had put there. Had not felt their child move within her. His was not the hand Brienne had grasped as she pushed his babe toward life. His words of love were not whispered in her ears upon seeing the face of their child for the first time. Jaime could scarce imagine her burden as an unmarried woman bringing a bastard child into the world. Had the knowledge that she would be mother to the child of the man who had abandoned her even been welcome? There was no hatred in the world stronger than that Jaime felt for himself.

When he could stand the space inside his own skin no longer, when there were no more tears left to weep, Jaime rose slowly barely able to support his own weight upon shaking legs. All within him called out for Brienne. She was near, somewhere. He knew that now. All he need do was find her. He raced to the window and pressed his face against the tiny spaces between the boards which barred his view. The light had disappeared from the sky long ago. In his stupor he had not noticed. Every part of his body strained to catch a glimpse of anything on the other side. His fingers pried desperately at the planks, trying to pull them from the frame into which they were nailed tightly. The lattice did not budge.

Slamming his fist against the sturdy panels, Jaime howled at the top of his lungs. “Brienne!” His shriek echoed from every corner of the room.

Jaime fell to his knees, his face in his hands, and wailed as if the force of his sheer will could open the path he needed to her. He felt the exhausted rasp of his lungs when air finally failed him. The taste of blood surged into his mouth from his raw throat. He sat on the floor, gasping for breath, his mind racing ahead of him. He had to find a way to reach Brienne. His anguished eyes fell upon the heavy panel of the door which blocked his way. It was then that he remembered. He had not heard the turn of the lock when his brother had exited his cell. Jaime raised his head in shocked anticipation. Tyrion had left the door unsecured.

He rose as if in a frantic dream. Jaime stumbled to the bed, and rifled through the garments Tyrion had left. He could not go to Brienne in rags. He sighed with gratitude as he stripped the soiled clothing he had worn for months from his body and pulled on a clean tunic and britches. There were boots, and a dark cloak. All necessities for moving secretly through the passageways of The Keep. He wanted no one to know he was there. Jaime’s only wish was to see Brienne, and the child she had given him.

Jaime trembled as he stumbled to the door, afraid to hope. He clasped the knob like it was a lifeline, and held his breath as he twisted the metal in his palm. The air in his lungs burst forth in relieved laughter when the door opened revealing the corridor beyond. Tyrion had not locked it. So, elated upon his discovery was Jaime that did not think to wonder why. Cautiously, he stepped forth toward his freedom, toward Brienne.  
——————————-  
Like the specter he had become, Jaime slipped through the shadows of the Red Keep. He knew not the exact location of his cell. There was no way for him to discern just how far he was from Brienne, and no telling who he might meet along the way. He knew exactly where she would be. Undoubtedly, she occupied the Lord Commander’s quarters in the White Sword Tower. Jaime's one time abode. Somehow he had to find his way there. Spurred on by his love for the woman he betrayed, all Jaime knew to do was keep moving.

The corridors were different, newer, brighter, almost happier than they had been. However, as he trudged onward, Jaime noticed familiarities in the pathways. The turnings, the directions, even the sounds along his way told him he was near to the White Sword Tower.

Jaime marveled at the awareness that formed in his thoughts as he continued. Brienne was so close to him. He only needed to make it the Lord Commander’s chamber. Then, he would see her, finally, be near her. What he would say once her shock of his having returned from the dead had worn away, he did not know. How she would react, he could not guess. His only concern, now, was simply reaching her. Jaime hoped the rest would take care of itself.

There were only a few guard patrols attending the Tower at that time of night, and they were located along the perimeter of the structure. Jaime could hear them down some of the passages he crossed, but none appeared along his route. This made him certain that the Gods themselves were leading him straight to Brienne. At least it gave him hope to think so.

Each step seemed miles. Jaime’s pace was painstakingly slow. He dared not let down his guard. He could not allow himself to be detected. He had to find Brienne. Then, as he turned the same corner he barely noticed when the Lord Commander’s quarters were his, the entrance to Brienne’s chamber stood before him. Forcing his racing heart and gasping breaths to quiet, Jaime pressed his ear against the oak. There was no sound on the other side.

Suddenly, Jaime was filled with doubt. As he had ventured forth from the confines of his gloomy billet, all he envisioned was the joyous reunion with Brienne for which he longed. Now, when he was so near to he that he could almost feel her, he realized that she might not be as elated to see him. Brienne had spent almost a year thinking him dead, after he had left her crying alone in the frigid darkness. The weight of the realization hit Jaime harder than the bricks that had all but took his life. He almost wished they had. Jaime knew not what would become of him if Brienne could not forgive him. He fought himself not to lose his nerve. Above his doubt, through his fear, there was one thing of which he was certain. He loved Brienne as no man had ever loved a woman, and he needed to see her.

There was no door in the Red Keep that ever held Jaime at bay, no lock he could not force, no secret place he did not know well. He had committed each to memory during his years of rushing to Cersei each time she beckoned him. The memories shamed him. If he had known that Brienne would be waiting along his life’s course, he would have run to his father and confessed their secret when he and Cersei had begun their sinful explorations of each other as children. He would have gladly taken whatever punishement Tywin would have decreed and considered himself lucky. He would not have coveted any woman until he gazed into the blue depths of Brienne’s eyes. As it were, Jaime prayed for the chance to make it right.

He took a deep breath and fingered the lock. He had no dagger tip with which to force open the mechanics of the bolt. Stepping backward, the sting of frustration began to settle over him. He breathed a defeated sigh, and raised his eyes upward, as if imploring the Gods for assistance. Then his eyes fell upon the end of the corridor. There, standing at attention on display, was a shining suit of golden Kingsguard armor. He recognized the markings. He had once worn an equally splendid vestment. It was from the reign of the Mad King. Jaime rushed for the grand suit of metal which had, in its day shielded some knight far more valiant than he considered himself. As he neared, he could make out the ominous scuffs, dents, and scratches. It must have been a relic left after the destruction of Daenarys and her dragon.

‘Much like me.’ Jaime thought to himself. ‘Once grand, now carrying the scars and marks of devastation, and pain.’ There was no time to contemplate the parallel further. He hoped to right some of the wrongs which had left far greater wounds unseen within him. Jaime urgently reached for the shoulder and squeezed his fingers beneath the pauldron, searching for the leather sashes which held the plates together. With only a few twitches of his hand, Jaime grabbed the metal buckle at the end of the stap. The jostling of the armor rang loudly in his ears as he pulled fiercely, trying to separate steel from leather. Jaime hoped their was no one close enough to hear the clanking, but was undaunted in his attempt.

Much to Jaime’s relief, after a few moments, the buckle ripped through the old brittle hide. He retrieved the small square harness, and clasped it tightly to him as he returned to Brienne’s door. In one fluid motion, he twisted the buckle around, and pushed up the prong so it could be used to pick the lock. Slowly, carefully, Jaime inserted the straight tine into the keyhole and worked the gears and tumblers until he heard them give way. A few careful turns, and the lock let lose its hold upon the latch. Jaime turned the knob, and let out a satisfied sigh when the door opened before him, as if it had been awaiting his arrival.

On feet surprisingly light for a man whose bones had been nearly crushed, Jaime stole into Brienne’s quarters. Standing as still as a weirwood tree, he took a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the darkness. What kind of impression would he make, knocking over a piece of undetected furniture, and scaring Brienne half to death? Slowly his vision came to him in the low illumination of the dying fire from the living chamber. The solar in these new rooms seemed as if it had been constructed with Brienne in mind. It was modest, with an economy of furnishings. There was nothing unnecessary to clutter a new life. It suited her.

Jaime peered further into the shadows. A small hallway branched off from the solar. The dim glow of firelight illuminated the distant wall where the path ended. There were two doorways, one was dark. Jaime imagined it was perhaps waiting for the babe to grow a bit older. To be of age to leave his mother’s side. The soft, warm light, was coming from the threshold directly opposite the darkened doorway. It must have been Brienne’s sleeping chamber. Of course they were slumbering. Jaime remembered from his time with her at Winterfell that Brienne was not one for lingering long into the night. Sleep usually found her early. She slept soundly, lost in her dreams. He smiled recalling how he had lain awake for hours watching her, never wanting to be anywhere but by her side, never imagining he would leave. But he had left. Jaime shoved his remorse deep into his chest and shuffled toward the light.

It felt like an eternity until Jaime reached out and gently pushed aside the oak panel that separated him from Brienne. With the greatest of caution, he stepped into the room. His eyes fell first upon the wide windows that led to a balcony beyond. For a fleeting moment, Jaime thought of Brienne standing before the grande view, holding their child in her loving arms. The image calmed him, and he turned, scanning the interior of the chamber. Jaime drew in a sharp excited breath when he saw, beyond the large glowing hearth, the shape of his beloved outlined in the quilts as she lay upon the thick mattress of her bed. Pride surged through him as he saw Oathkeeper hanging from the foot post, gleaming in majesty. His heart melted, to see that beside the head of the bed, made of fine dark wood, stood a lovely delicate bassinet.

Jaime did not feel himself move as he drew near to them. His eyes never left Brienne’s form. Visions of what they had shared filled his mind. Every nerve in his body held a memory of her. His skin still felt the tingle of her touch. His lips still held the taste of her. His cock again reacted to the thought of her velvet sheath around him. He longed to hold her once more in his arms. This night, however, he would be satisfied simply to gaze upon them. He would earn them back in the morning light. Until then, he simply needed to know that they were truly alright.

Upon finally standing beside Brienne, Jaime found that all he could do was stare. The planes and angles of her features were illuminated by the firelight. Her shoulders softly rose and fell as she slept. He lost himself listening to the song of her gentle sighs, and remembered falling asleep to the soft murmurs of her slumber. His arms ached to wrap themselves around her. What a fool he had been to ever leave her side. A tiny rustle drew his eyes to the cradle next to her. Their son stirred in his sleep. At last, he regarded the precious child they had made. The babe took his breath away. Never had he seen a child so perfect. Even lovely, Myrcella had not been as beautiful as the child Brienne had bore him.

Jaime moved closer to them, yearning to take his place as husband and father, and to never let them go. For a long moment, he felt he could actually live the sweet visions that filled his mind. As if sensing his father’s thoughts, Galladon stirred. The babe opened his eyes and blinked happily up at Jaime. It almost seemed that the child recognized him. Jaime stared in awe as his own face peered up at him with Brienne’s eyes. Forgetting himself, Jaime reached down and rested his hand softly upon the infant’s chest. Settling the babe, he smiled warmly at the feeling of his heart being stolen from his chest. It was then that Galladon cooed sweetly, reacting to the happiness in Jaime’s expression.

Ever vigilante even in slumber, for any change in her babe, Brienne awakened. The protective mother snapped immediately to the alert. Roused from a peaceful sleep, eyes unaccustomed to the darkness, all that formed to awareness in Brienne’s mind was the image of an intruder in her private bed chamber. A cloaked figure loomed over her bedside, his hand reaching into her son’s bassinet.

In the shadows there was nothing to identify Jaime to her. Even his handless right arm was obscured by the folds of fabric that billowed around him. In the space of a breathless moment, a blurr flashed before Jaime’s eyes as Brienne threw aside the quilt, and bolted upright. Jaime heard the high pitch shriek of Oathkeep being drawn from the scabbard. He could not steady his balance, stumbling backward as Brienne shoved him away from Galladon. Her strength propelling her toward him, she jumped from the bed. Before he could react, Oathkeeper whirled angrily past his head, and jabbed fiercely at his gut. He was again pushed farther across the room, ducking and dodging the forceful thrusts of her blade.

“Who are you?” Brienne demanded, trying to chase the sleep from her brain. “What do you want?” She shouted. From what she had seen, it was clear to her what the assailant had come for, her babe. She vowed to herself that it was she who would reap the spoils this night. She would take his head. Again, she sliced at the man’s face, coming only a hair’s breadth from drawing life blood. Hearing his mother’s agitation, Galladon began to whimper and wail from his cradle.

In the darkness, Jaime lost his footing and fell to the floor. He was relieved to realize that his reflexes were still lightning quick, rolling out of the way of Brienne’s slicing blows. Sparks lit the night, as her Valyrian steel blade came crashing down onto the stone floor. Jaime knew Brienne would run him through before he could even announce himself. She had no reason to imagine it was him. In her mind, he was lying dead. Jaime had no choice but to reveal himself.

Frantically, he rose to one knee, shielding his face from her blade with his his arm. “Brienne!” Jaime bellowed. “Brienne! Stop! It’s me!” He called. “It’s me!” He repeated, finally pushing the hood from his face, as Brienne raised Oathkeeper for another volley.

Brienne was just about to bring the blade crashing down unto the intruder’s skull, when she realized who it truly was that spoke to her. Suddenly, the trajectory of her stroke faltered. Brienne felt her arms go weak. She fought to make sense of what was happening as she lowered Oathkeeper to her side. Her lungs refused to fill with air, there were no words in her throat. Brienne stared intently at the ghost before her. Was it true? Was this really Jaime? He was alive. Her mind reeled as it raced in uncontrollable directions.

“It’s me.” Jaime whispered, his eyes begging her to set aside her doubt and believe him.

Her legs buckling, Brienne fell to her knees in front of him. To his relief her eyes grew soft, and he could almost see the love behind them. He could also read the unspoken confusion there. With trembling fingers, she lifted her hand to his face, caressing his jaw. As if he could to hold onto her, Jaime raised his palm and pressed her hand to his skin, his eyes filling with joyful tears.

“You’re alive.” Brienne sighed in disbelief. For a moment Jaime thought her tears would mix with his, and they would share a beautiful reunion.

“All this time?” She breathed in hoarsely. She could not yet find voice for all of the quandaries that circulated through her mind.

It was then that Galladon, alone in the darkness and fearing that his mother’s silence signaled that she had left him, let out a piercing cry in search of her. Brienne turned her head and looked over her shoulder, checking on her infant. Jaime’s gaze followed hers in concerned response. Her babe’s fearful wail brought everything back to Brienne. She saw herself standing with Jaime in the cold courtyard at Winterfell, her desperate sobs pleading with him not to go. She felt again, the hollow pit her heart became watching him ride away. Brienne felt her fatherless babe growing within her. She saw both the pitying and scornful stares of those around her as her form had rounded with Jaime’s child. She remembered her fear at bringing that child into the world without him by her side. Brienne recalled the lonely agony of Galladon’ birth, and her determination to make a life for her son beyond the label of Kingslayer’s Bastard.

When she looked back to Jaime, the softness had disappeared from her stare. She glared bitterly at him. His face too, lost its hopeful anticipation, as he watched the hatred paint her features. Brienne pulled her hand back angrily, and loosed her wrath upon his cheek, as blue fire flashed in her eyes. Jaime felt no pain from her slap. The agony in his heart was far too great.

“Get Out!” Brienne seethed through gritted teeth.

Jaime shook his head, not wanting to move. “Please. Brienne? Let me explain.” He begged.

“Get Out!” Brienne screamed. She beat his chest with her fists. She slammed her open palms against his jaw. Finally she pushed him as far from her as she could.

“Brienne.” Jaime’s tried to plead his case, sprawled upon the stones his voice wracked with pain.

She knelt, defeated, on the floor. Her wary eyes searched his face looking for a reason that could justify what he had done. “Get out.” Brienne sobbed.

The crushing sorrow and confusion that Jaime found in Brienne’s expression shattered him. It was somehow worse than the grief he saw in her frown the night he left her. He had done this, all of it. It was he who inflicted this pain upon the woman who possessed his heart. Her anger, her hatred, her distrust, he had put within her. Deserving he was, of all of it. Jaime could torment her no longer. If she needed him gone this night, he would go. He would try to win back her love some other way. In this moment, he would give her the only peace he could, his absence.

Jaime stood unsteadily, backing toward the doorway. His could not take his eyes from her. She could not stop her tears from falling. Galladon continued to cry from his bed, his need for his mother growing more urgent. Jaime’s brain told him to continue on his retreating path, his body would not cooperate. He clung to the doorframe, wanting to gather Brienne in his arms, a furrowed frown creasing his brow. Jaime’s entire being was in as much pain as hers.

“I’m sorry.” He wept a strangled cry before disappearing around the corner, and making his way to the door of her quarters, leaving Brienne and their son alone, once more.

Brienne sat, trying to breathe, her mind reeling. He was alive. He had been alive. While she had carried and birthed his child, he was yet living. Surely, that meant he had not wished to be with her, had never wanted her. But, why had he come to her now? What purpose would be served by making his appearance this night? She could not answer the questions that taunted her, and howled in her mind. Screaming, somewhere near to her awareness there was screaming. Galladon.

Brienne gasped, and jumped to her feet. She rushed to her child’s cradle and lifted him comfortingly into her arms. Brienne wrapped her own body around Galladon as if she could protect him from the unseen ghosts, and doubts that plagued her. She held to her babe like a beacon in a storm, and wept through the night.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne confronts Tyrion with her knowledge of Jaime’s survival, and delivers an ultimatum.

“Why did you not tell her I was alive?” Jaime’s voice startled Tyrion as he entered his solar the next morning.

Tyrion’s hand shot to his chest, as if trying to stop his racing heart from bursting through. He turned to see Jaime sitting in his ornately carved chair, feet up on the large heavy table at which he worked upon matters of state. “Godsdammit, Jaime!” He stammered. “You scared the shit out of me.” Tyrion glared.

“I ought to beat the shit out of you.” Jaime answered, unmoving.

Tyrion eyed him indignantly. “Oh, that’s the thanks I get for saving your life?” He remarked with exaggerated hurt.

Jaime rolled his eyes. “Saving it, or ruining it?” He questioned, his voice livid with blame.

“I would say you did a fairly good job of the latter, yourself.” Tyrion narrowed his eyes at his brother, and regarded him spitefully. He walked slowly and deliberately toward the table at which Jaime sat.

“I did what I had to.” Jaime bellowed, moving to perch on the edge of the chair, and stare daggers at Tyrion. “I protected Brienne. The only way I could.” His voice fell with painful regret.

Tyrion sighed, contemplating his actions in the matter. Perhaps Jaime was correct. It may have been quite possible that he should have told Brienne that Jaime lived. Although he doubted it would have changed anything. Sansa had written to him of how devastated Brienne had been when his brother had left. Then there had been the matter of the babe. Her world had undoubtedly been shaken to its core. He had no wish to add to her pain. ‘After all, Brienne had been the one wronged. There was no way of knowing if she would have even wanted Jaime back in her life.’ Tyrion tried to defend his reasons to himself, while giving his thudding heart time to relax.

Jaime, too, allowed his anger to cool before continuing. “Please tell me, Brother.” He begged. “Why did you not go to Brienne, confess that I lived still, and asked her to come to me?” By now, there was more hurt in his voice than rage.

Tyrion shook his head. “Do you honestly think she would have run to you with open arms after what you did to her?” He rebuked. “Besides.” He softened. “I did not know if you would live or die. She thought you dead already. Would it have been better for her heart to break twice?” He hoped Jaime would see his logic.

“At least she would have known. Perhaps she would have taken me back.” Jaime pressed on, imagining the wonder it would have been to open his eyes upon Brienne’s loving face. “Perhaps she would have forgiven me by now.” He conjectured. “I would not have missed so much time with her, with them.” He lamented, remembering the tiny precious child sleeping at Brienne’s bedside, his child, their child. “I could have told her my reasons.” Jaime’s voice grew even more sad. “Those I should have admitted when I left her, instead of making her think I did not want her.” He lowered his face in his hands. “I could have told her that I was so wrong.” He bemoaned the choices he had made.

After a long moment, Jaime looked up at Tyrion with anguished eyes. “Now, she won’t even speak to me.” His face clouded to think of how she had pummeled him, and ordered him from her chambers.

Tyrion’s eyes snapped upward. “What did you do?” He growled, seriously.

Jaime sat defeated, his eyes distant. “I had to see them.” He explained. “I needed to ensure they wanted for nothing.” His face fell, thinking of Brienne’s angry reaction upon seeing him returned from the dead.

“From your current mood, I can only take it that things did not go well.” Tyrion surmised, already concluding that his long lost brother had found his way to Brienne’s chambers. Jaime’s only reaction was to shake his head

Jaime closed his eyes and shook his head. “That would be an understatement.” His voice was a choked whisper.

Tyrion exhaled loudly, closing his eyes and raising his fingers to the bridge of his nose. He squeezed the bone firmly, hoping to forestall the headache he could feel this day turning into. “Please tell me you did not go bursting into her quarters declaring your return to the living?” Tyrion hoped.

Jaime gave him an a look somewhere between innocence and guilt. “Bursting?” He repeated, his tone rising in his own defense. “No. There was no bursting involved.” He assured Tyrion. “My arrival required much more, stealth.” He admitted, shrugging his shoulders.

“You broke in.” Tyrion asserted.

“It was the middle of the night.” Jaime justified. “Brienne never stayed up late during our time together.” He elaborated. “I did not think I would disturb them. I only wanted to look upon them.” Jaime’s eyes grew distant remembering the vision of Brienne guarding their son even in her sleep.

“And how was it that you came to be discovered?” Tyrion sighed.

“They awakened.” Jaime said, too obviously avoiding Tyrion’s glare.

“I take it she was less than overjoyed to see you.” Tyrion guessed.

“She tried to take my head.” Jaime’s voice fell a painful octave, his anger finding a target. “This is all your fault.” He accused, refusing to accept responsibility.

“My fault?” Tyrion questioned in wide-eyed disbelief.

Tyrion shook his head sharply. “Oh no. Brother.” He warned. “Do not lay this on me.” He refuted. “You wouldn’t be in this mess if you had stayed where you were supposed to in the first place!” Tyrion rebuked Jaime.

Jaime knew Tyrion was correct. He never should have parted from Brienne. Things would have been so different if he had been true to his heart, and stayed to protect her instead of running away. However, now she knew he was alive, and things had changed again. After his ill-planned debacle in her chambers the previous night, winning back either her love or her trust seemed an impossible task.

“Why did you leave the door to my cell unlocked?” Jaime argued. “You should have known I would do something like this.” He indicted.

“The King commanded me to make your presence known to Lady Brienne.” Tyrion tried to explain. “I knew that if I told her, she would refuse to see you.” He said regretfully.

Jaime sneered. He knew Tyrion too well to believe his motives completely selfless. “You knew exactly what I would do.” He indicted. “That’s why you left the door unlocked. It saved you from having to do it.” Jaime’s voice was charged with anger once more.

Tyrion shrugged. “I thought if she saw you, she would not be able to resist her feelings and they would find their way to surface.” He tried to justify actions he now realized were sadly misguided.

“Oh, her feeling surfaced, alright.” Jaime shot back, accusingly. “She no longer mourns me.” He grieved. “Now, she wants to kill me, herself.” He shook his head, bitterly.

Tyrion regarded his brother, sadly. “It appears we’ve both made grave errors in judgement.” He conceded, with a deep sigh. “Hopefully, your lady will be able to see in time that your mistakes were made out of love.” He said thoughtfully.

“All of them.” Jaime wished, lamenting that he ever left Brienne’s side.

Tyrion stroked his beard and paced a bit, trying to determine an appropriate course of action. “Well.” He finally spoke. “She knows, now.” Tyrion acknowledged. “I suppose that’s the first step.” He said, still trying to plan the next one.

Jaime nodded. “Oh yes.” He agreed. “She knows.” He joined Tyrion in deep thought. Only a few moments later, their strategy planning was urgently interrupted.

“Lord Tyrion!” Brienne’s voice shouted angrily from the corridor, accompanied by her insistent banging upon his door. “Lord Tyrion. I must speak with you!” She demanded, knocking again.

Jaime jumped from his seat behind the desk, his eyes frenzied with remorse. After the scene between them the night before, he knew that he was the last person she wanted to see. Jaime would not cause her further distress for anything. Even his own concern and longing for her would need to wait. He looked pleadingly at his brother for a route of escape.

Tyrion raised his finger to his lips, motioning for Jaime to be silent. He hurried to take hold of his brother’s arm, pulling him toward a curtained doorway which led to an anti-chamber just off his solar. Jaime followed willingly. Inside the small alcove, Tyrion pushed Jaime behind the richly brocaded drapery which framed the doorway, and pointed to an empty space just on the other side of the curtain. Jaime flattened himself as tightly as he could against the wall, and looked at Tyrion, alarmed.

“Stay here.” Tyrion ordered in a whisper, as he made sure nothing was visible through sides of the fabric. “Do not make a sound.” He ordered urgently. Jaime complied, grateful at his brother’s solution, yet stricken at the thought of Brienne’s rage toward him.  
———————————  
Brienne had spent the remaining hours of darkness holding Galladon close to her, and trying to come to terms with the fact that Jaime still lived. As the hours wore on, part of her wanted to follow him, draw her sword, and make him regret ever leaving her in the most gruesome and painful ways. Memories of all she had endured since his departure laid fresh upon her mind. The following moment, her visions would turn to the nights they spent in each other’s arms. Brienne’s heart would shatter with his memory, and she would force herself not to run to him and declare her undying love, certain he would feel the same. She had seen the look upon Jaime’s face in the dim firelight. He stared at her the way he had at Winterfell, as if he actually cared. The inclination that won out was to sit numbly upon her bed, clutching the babe they had made, and weeping bitter tears.

As morning light met her exhausted eyes, Brienne decided that his sudden appearance back in the realm of the living made no difference. She could never again trust that he had any amorous feelings toward her. Brienne had determined that her most important priority was her son, and Jaime’s apparent resurrection did not change that. She would not risk Galladon’s security, or his future.

Upon her arrival to the Lord Commander’s quarters, Septa Vaele had found her mistress fully dressed and pacing the floor nearly overwrought with anxiety. Brienne hurriedly placed Galladon in his caregiver’s arms and rushed to the door. “Do not allow anyone into these quarters. Do not answer if someone should knock.” She ordered, hastily. The Septa held Galladon close, and began to tremble at the gravity of Brienne’s tone. It was clear something was amiss, and she had found herself directly in the middle of it.

“I shall return shortly.” Brienne declared. “There is a pressing matter I must attend.” she told the girl as she opened the door and turned the lock to secure the egress behind her. “Remember, not a soul.” Brienne eyed the girl, ensuring her meaning was understood. Septa Vaele nodded her reply. Satisfied, Brienne quickly shut the door behind her and stormed off in the direction of The Tower of the Hand.  
———————————  
Having covered the distance to Lord Tyrion’s quarters in short order, Brienne stood in the corridor, fuming, waiting for Jaime’s brother to answer her call. Jaime was alive, and was here, somewhere in The Red Keep. She was certain The Hand of the King knew all about Ser Jaime’s sudden reappearance among the living.

“Lord Commander.” Tyrion greeted, opening the door as casually as he could under the circumstances. “What a pleasant surprise.” He smiled hospitably, if somewhat overdone.

“Save the formalities, Lord Hand.” Brienne glowered. “I need to speak with you.” She announced, forcing her way past him and into his quarters, uninvited.

“Please, do come in.” Tyrion conceded as he closed the door, dreading the conversation before him.

Brienne surveyed the interior of the room, almost expecting to see Jaime sitting in one of the gilded chairs. She did not realize that he stood unseen behind the heavy fabric only a few paces away, listening to every word.

Tyrion turned, and pasted an innocent smile upon his face. “To what do I owe the honor of your visit, Ser Brienne?” He inquired, unnecessarily.

“I believe you know quite well why I am here.” She accused. Tyrion’s feigned inculpability only deepened upon his face. Behind the curtain Jaime closed his eyes and reveled in the sound of her voice. Even in anger, it was sweeter to him than any music.

Brienne continued, undaunted. “I received a most unwelcome visit from an extremely unexpected intruder in my chambers last night.” She informed him, indignantly.

Tyrion gasped. “What? An intruder, here in The Red Keep?” He questioned, trying to give his response the appropriate level of concern. “How did the marauder get past the guards?” He wondered aloud.

“Don’t patronize me.” Brienne scowled. “You know very well who it was.” Her spiteful stare bore holes through Tyrion, who all but squirmed under her scrutiny. “Your brother is alive.” She asserted. Hidden away in the adjacent room, Jaime’s heart broke at the sound of the hatred in Brienne’s voice.

It was clear to Tyrion that he could not deny the obvious. Jaime had already made his presence known to her, and the King himself would sanction the discovery. He could only do his best to lessen the damage to both Brienne and Jaime. He lowered his head, unable to meet her eyes. “Yes.” Tyrion nodded. “Jaime is alive.” He admitted.

For a moment, Brienne was struck speechless. Her mind was besieged by the same unanswerable questions which had tormented her during the night, as she had held Jaime’s son, and tried to force herself to understand what she could not imagine. Why had Tyrion, at least, not told her? Had it been that Jaime had wished her not to know?

As she had made her way to Tyrion’s office that morning, Brienne determined she would not show emotion at the realization that her child’s father lived. She swore to herself that neither anger, nor bitterness, nor hurt, nor heartbreak would be the cause of anything other than apathy in her reaction. Upon hearing confirmation of Jaime’ survival, her resolve was fast failing her. Brienne stood in Tyrion’s solar, digging her fingernails into her palms in an effort not to allow the heartbroken tears that swamped her throat to flow to the surface.

“How long has he been here?” She asked hoarsely, her eyes betraying her hurt.

Tyrion cleared his throat. “He never left.” His answer was nearly as agonized as Brienne’s question. Jaime pressed himself harder against the wall of the adjoining room, trying desperately to resist racing from his clandestine station and groveling at Brienne’s feet.

A cold anger slowly overtook Brienne’s hurt. “This entire time? He was alive?” she voiced quietly, her words more of a hollow statement than a question. Her mind reeled, at the notions forming in her thoughts. Cruel sobs welled within her chest. She swallowed hard, and forced them down. So, it seemed he had not wished her anywhere near. Had he even mentioned her? Unseen, Jaime’s own tears welled behind his eyes. He could feel the doubt and ache in Brienne’s murmur.

Tyrion looked painfully at Brienne, he could see the shadow of the agony under which she had lived for so long. “Barely.” Tyrion corrected. “The bricks that were reported to have taken Jaime’s life, very nearly did their job.” He told Brienne, certain the memory of finding his brother so near to death would haunt him for the remainder of his days.

Brienne was unmoved. “I am sure he laments the fact that he was unable to die along with your sister as he wished.” She raised her chin proudly, unwilling to show how the idea afflicted her. Even at the distance at which he stood from her, Jaime could hear the resentful sting in Brienne’s tone, and it tore him apart.

“No. My Lady. That was not at all his purpose.” Tyrion shook his head mournfully.

Brienne considered his words. “Perhaps you are correct.” She agreed. “Obviously, he must have held some hope in returning to her.” Brienne’s speech was stiff and forced. Against her best efforts, it betrayed the torture in her heart. “Surely, he wished for a long, happy life and a beautiful family, far from here.” She concluded. “Everything, and everyone else just a distasteful memory.” She emphasized. Brienne was fast losing the battle to remain distanced from the injured emotions she had harbored for so long. Jaimie shook his head as he listened in silence.

Tyrion lowered his gaze, considering the pain in which Brienne continued to be mired. ‘Damn Jaime for not having been forthright with her, as to why he had left Winterfell.’ Tyrion thought to himself. He knew not which truly would have been a worse outcome, risking the safety of a seasoned knight that she might have followed him into danger, or letting her live the rest of her life believing she had not been loved with all of the passion in his brother’s soul. He fought himself not to drag Jaime from the next room and force him to explain himself to Brienne, then and there.

“My Lady.” Tyrion spoke considerately, heedful of Brienne’s anger and injury. “You must believe me.” He begged. “A life with Cersei was the farthest desire from Jaime’s heart.” He entreated her to find the honesty in his accounting of events. “His greatest aspiration would be a life with you, and the child with which you have blessed him.” Tyrion pleaded.

A rueful sneer crossed Brienne’s face. “Please do not insult my intelligence, My Lord.” She answered scornfully. “Your brother made it perfectly clear where his heart lay, when he rode through the gates at Winterfell.” She informed him contemptuously.

“What we may have had there meant nothing to him. That much was obvious when he bed me for a moon, and then left.” Brienne’s jaw cut like steel, and her lips pursed stiffly with anger. “He would not even have said a word to me had I not awakened, and found him saddling his horse, in a fury to be gone.” Her lungs tightened, as she nearly spat the syllables.

Brienne did not know why she so easily yielded her usual obsession with privacy to answer Tyrion so honestly. Perhaps her judgement was clouded by her rage. It was possible that she inwardly felt some strange kind of kinship with Jaime’s brother. It could simply have been that it felt good to finally give voice to her resentments, knowing that Tyrion would surely relay them to Jaime. For whatever reason, she continued, the words pouring from deep within her broken heart.

“I was but a whore to be used for battle lust. Quick to foresake, easy to leave, and even easier to forget.” Brienne rued.

In the next room, Jaime shook his head. ‘No. No! Brienne.’ His inner most voice echoed in his own ears. ‘You were never that to me.’ The torment of his grief was unbearable. “My heart stayed with you.’ His mind screamed. ‘You are my heart.’ He could feel the destruction of their love that he had caused.

Tyrion had sat with Jaime everyday for a year since his supposed death. He had seen the hopeless hurt his brother had caused himself. He understood, the depths of Jaime’s love and adoration for Brienne. His cause could not have been more crucial if it had been his own lady love to whom he pleaded. He hoped to find a way to impart all that Jaime had told him to Brienne. Tyrion realized how difficult that would be as he felt her fury and tenacity mounting.

Tyrion stepped toward the Lord Commander, his hands outstretched, imploring her to believe him. “Lady Brienne, the truth is...” He began sincerely, only to have his cause halted by her ire.

“The truth is, My Lord, that Jaime would have rather died with Cersei, than live with me.” Brienne asserted, the pain in her heart too much to hide, as her eyes clouded with tears.

Hidden in the darkness, Jaime’s own heart shattered at Brienne’s assertion. He realized now, just how deeply he had hurt the woman he loved. She now counted him the worst of all of those who had taunted and disparaged her throughout her life. How could he ever convince her, that she was truly the greatest treasure he had ever beheld. His only desire was to give his life in order to keep her safe. He had told her long ago, that his heart would always be hers. He thought she understood his meaning, but it was a man’s actions which ultimately proved his character to Brienne. His actions toward her had been despicable. There, standing alone in the darkened alcove, listening to her perception and resentment, he feared he had killed any love she ever had for him.

His options fleeting before his eyes, Tyrion understood that no argument of motive he could give would sway Brienne’s to change her thoughts of Jaime’s betrayal. The only path left to him was simple heartfelt honesty. He looked up at Brienne, genuine care and concern for both her and Jaime evident on his features. “He loves you.” Was the all he could say.

Brienne was taken aback. She stepped away from Tyrion and looked down upon him. “Loves me?” She scoffed. In her mind, again she watched Jaime leaving Winterfell, leaving her. Her memory brought her thoughts of carrying and bearing his child. Her heart filled with love for her son, and with determination never to see him hurt they way she had been. She forced her own love for Jaime to the depths of her awareness. “My Lord, if he loved me, he would not have left.” She said plainly. At that Jaime lost his battle to stop the flowing of his tears.

Before Tyrion could open his mouth to protest, Brienne made her final declaration. “My Lord.” She insisted. “I have no interest in arguing events of the past.” Brienne stated emphatically. “That is not why I am here.” She informed him. “My purpose in calling upon you this morning is to deliver a message.” She turned a cool glare to him.

“Anything, My Lady.” Tyrion acquiesced, hopeful that he might somehow be of help in rebuilding the bridge between Jaime and Brienne.

Brienne took a moment’s breath and steadied herself, desirous of giving the appropriate emphasis to her words. Then her eyes turned steely, narrowing to daggers. “You need to make Ser Jaime understand, that if he ever comes near me or my child again...” Brienne’s tone left nothing to be misinterpreted. “He will wish he died beneath that ruble.” She swore, her face never changing from a mask of cold anger, as she turned and stormed from the room.

Tyrion bowed his head and waited, anticipating the forelorn ghost of a man who would soon hover over him. In only moments, his prediction came to fruition as Jaime shuffled heavily from the next room, barely able to lift his feet. In all the worst times through which he knew the man had lived, Tyrion had never seen the shattered agony which he saw upon Jaime’s face at what he had just heard from Brienne’s own lips. Jaime appeared more a shadow of himself. All hope was lost him. He was certain she could never love him again.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Jaime’s return from supposed death is made known, King Bran seems to have plans for him. Podrick feels it may be his duty to avenge Brienne’s honor.

“She shall never speak to me again.” Jaime mourned. He seemed more like a lost little boy, than a knight, or a Kingslayer. Brienne had all but declared her hatred for him, and there was nothing he could do to change it, any of it. He could not turn back time, nor did he have any idea how to go forward.

Tyrion sighed, his face glowering in a pensive frown. “I fear you may be correct, Brother.” He agreed “Something tells me that few have ever been granted the chance to restore Lady Brienne’s good opinion of them.” He conjectured. Jaime’s posture fell even more.

Unable to bear seeing his brother in such overwhelming pain, Tyrion wanted to ease Jaime’s mind. He hoped that Brienne’s rage hid deeper, stronger, more pleasant feelings. “I remember the way she looked at you at Winterfell, even before the two of you...” Tyrion stopped himself for decorum’s sake. “Before, you acted upon your love for each other.” He smiled. “I have only ever seen one other living soul whose face shown with such complete adoration, as hers did when she looked at you.” He almost smiled.

Jaime shook his head. “So help me, Tyrion, if you mention anything about me and that witch of a sister of ours, I will throw you through the window.” Jaime promised.

Tyrion nearly allowed himself a good natured chuckle. “Not to worry.” He assured Jaime. “That travesty was the farthest thing from my mind.” He said with a disgusted scowl.

Jaime gave Tyrion a relieved nod. “Then who is this lovesick fool of which you speak?” The shadow of a grin played at the corners of his mouth through his sadness.

“You, whenever you but think of Lady Brienne.” Tyrion affirmed. Jaime replied with an almost bashful blush.

“Mark my words, Jaime.” Tyrion contended. “Brienne’s love for you is still as strong as it ever was.” He said with certainty. “It may be buried under layers of hurt, and shrouded with anger, but a love like that does not simply disappear.” He declared.

“I believe Lord Tyrion is correct.” A soft, almost mystical voice surprised them from behind.

Jaime and Tyrion turned as King Bran entered the solar, his chair pushed by Ser Podrick Payne. From the utter shock on Podrick’s face, and the falter in his step, it was clear that no one had made him aware of Jaime’s return to the world of the living. The King’s gaze washed over Jaime with as little astonishment as if they had spoken only a few moments before. Jaime realized that Brandon Stark had been well aware that he had not perished in the collapse of the Red Keep.

“Your Grace.” Tyrion snapped to attention upon the entrance of the young king.

Jaime repeated Tyrion’s greeting rotely. “Your Grace.” He stammered slightly. Never would he have imagined he would one day be addressing , as the ruler of Westeros, the same boy he had maimed and nearly killed. Never would he have dreamed that boy, now a man, would regard him kindly, even compassionately.

Next, Jaime’s eyes wondered up to meet Podrick’s glare. At first a sense of familiar affability washed over him at the sight of the young man he considered a friend. Then he saw the steel set of Podrick’s jaw, and the darkness in his eyes. Jaime got the distinct impression that Brienne’s former squire would like nothing better than to send him to the Hells for real. He could not blame the loyal young knight.

As of sensing his Shield’s animosity Bran turned his head, and without taking his eyes from Jaime, spoke to his trustworthy bodyguard. “Would you excuse us, Ser Podrick?” He said, his words more a command than a question.

“Of course, You Grace.” Podrick bowed too rigidly.

“You may take your leave now. You can attend me at the Small Council meeting in a few hours.” Bran bid Podrick.

Podrick nodded and backed toward the doorway. He spun on his heels, his head the last part of him to turn. Jaime noticed how his posture squared as he strode through open frame. He also saw the scowling vengeful look that crossed Pod’s face as he threw him a menacing glance over his shoulder. He would certainly find no ally in Podrick Payne, not anymore.

Bran waited until Podrick had left to continue. “Ser Jaime.” He greeted. “I am pleased that you are at last returned to health. It has been a long journey for you, I am sure.” The King said calmly, almost warmly.

“One for which I fear there may be no purpose.” Jaime answered solemnly.

Bran sighed, a discouraged shake of his head hinting at his judgment of the shambles which both Lannister brothers had made of the situation. “Yes, Ser Brienne’s reaction to your reappearance is unfortunate.” The King acknowledged, as if he knew every detail of what had occurred. “However, I do know what other reception you could have expected under such circumstances.” His tone reminded Jaime and Tyrion of the reprimands they used to receive from their own father when they had misbehaved as children. “I am sure I do not need to describe how troubling your actions in this matter have been.” He announced.

Jaime acquiesced and hung his head. He was more than willing to accept any punishment Bran might see fit. If only some feat could make him worthy of Brienne. If only some act of contrition could prove his love for her. He was ashamed of himself, for everything he had done.

At his side, Tyrion crossed his arms and stared accusingly at his brother.  
“Quite troubling.” He stated indignantly, nodding his head in agreement.

“Both your actions, Lord Hand.” Bran reiterated. At that, Tyrion dropped his arms to his sides, and stood beside Jaime like a guilty child. “Yes, Your Grace,” was his only response this time.

Bran turned a serious frown to Tyrion. “I had hoped that you might have delivered the news of your brother’s survival to Ser Brienne with a bit more tact.” He chastised. “I am sure you can understand how painful this is for both of them, and how much worse your interpretation of my wishes has made this situation.” Bran regarded his Hand with disappointment. Tyrion wanted to crawl away. A sentiment made even more distressing by Jaime’s suddenly superior scrutiny. The elder Lannister brother, cleared his throat, enjoying watching Tyrion’s embarrassment.

“Ser Jaime.” King Bran redirected his censure. “I understand that you merely wished to see your family, but you frightened Ser Brienne to death.” He admonished. “Imagine her fear at awakening to a cloaked intruder in her chambers, with his hand reaching into her child’s cradle.” Bran stated in reproach.

Jaime’s guts twisted at the thought of Brienne’s fear. He would never have meant to subject her to such shock. He had been selfish, and she had paid the price, again. Even through his remorse, Jaime wondered at Bran’s description of Brienne and Galladon as, ‘his family.’ He would have given anything to have it be so, and wondered if perhaps Bran saw something he could not.

“I know you are right, Your Grace.” Jaime apologized. “I have no defense for what I have done.” He said sadly. “It was desperation that clouded my judgment.” He admitted, his eyes never leaving the ground.

“You have my sympathy.” Bran told him, sincerely. “But I ask you to please be more judicious in your approach to Ser Brienne, at least for the time being.” He suggested.

“Yes, Your Grace.” Jaime agreed sullenly. “However, she has already made it perfectly clear that she does not wish me anywhere near her, or our child.” He lamented.

Bran was quick to consider Jaime's worry, and mitigate his doubts. “The chasm between the two of you now is certainly not what you had hoped.” The King agreed. “However, their are always reasons, for everything.” He assured the crestfallen knight. Jaime could not help but recall their conversation at Winterfell, and lowered his eyes, a hint of remorse still blanketing his heart for his actions toward the monarch in the past.

Bran seemed to understand the look which settled upon Jaime’s face at the thought, and was quick to move on from painful memories of the past. “Ser Brienne is not yet ready to welcome you back into her life.” Bran explained. “However, she still loves you, deeply.” He declared, as if he had somehow walked through her innermost thoughts.

Jaime’s brow furrowed. “You mean she won’t always want to murder me?” He asked painfully.

Bran nearly smiled, and shook his head. “Quite the contrary.” The Three-Eyed Raven told Jaime with certainty. “But you must give her time.” Bran instructed. “Ser Brienne is a proud woman. She does not easily forgive wrongs.” He stated the obvious.

Jaime raised his eyes. “Or forget them.” He answered as if Bran was a master of understatement. Tyrion agreed with a heavy sigh.

“Hate is not the opposite of love, Ser Jaime.” Bran spoke stoically. “Indifference is the antithesis of affection, and from her reaction I would say that Ser Brienne is anything but indifferent to you.” He offered.

Jaime breathed a long and mournful sigh. “I hope you are correct, Your Grace.” He said humbly, afraid to hope.

“Be patient.” Bran said. “Show her that she can trust you again.” He advised.

Bran’s suggestion reminded Jaime of the truce he and Brienne had declared at Harrenhal, when he had sworn his trust to her. A wistful, distant look found Jaime’s face recalling how it was during their time as hostages at the old fortress that he had realized how very much he loved Brienne. His countenance fell just as quickly when he thought of how long it had taken him to truly give himself up to those feelings, and to where that had led.

“It will be a monumental task.” Jaime lamented to the king.

“Perhaps.” Bran agreed. “Then again, matters of such consequence are seldom ever easy.” He nodded. “You owe it to her.” He charged.

Jaime lowered his chin. “That I do, Your Grace.” He inhaled deeply as if preparing himself for the task that lay ahead. “I will show Brienne that her hope and faith is not misplaced, and that my love for her is stronger than it ever was.” Jaime vowed. “I will give her the time she needs, and I will never leave her side again.” He could almost look forward to the future with that thought bolstering his courage. Perhaps, Bran did see some path for himself and Brienne which he could not.

Bran seemed satisfied at Jaime oath. “Very well.” He declared. “I am certain she will warm to your efforts, and the rest will come.” He presented, giving Jaime hope.

“Until then, Lord Tyrion, have you found acceptable accommodations for Ser Jaime?” Bran asked turning to his Hand.

Tyrion cleared his throat. He had barely had time to get his wits about him after the events of the morning. “I was just tending to the matter, Your Grace.” He answered.

“Excellent.” Bran replied, an expression of deep consideration settling over his features. “Perhaps you could show Ser Jaime to one the unoccupied chambers here in the Tower of the Hand.” He suggested.

For a moment, Tyrion looked stricken. He had not expected his brother would be housed so near to him now that he was recovered. Truthfully, he had not planned beyond Jaime’s survival. Seeing Tyrion’s obvious discomfort, Jaime almost smiled. He was still able to enjoy watching his brother squirm a little.

“An excellent suggestion, Your Grace.” Tyrion conceded.

“Very well, then.” Bran declared. “Now, regarding your duties, Ser Jaime.” Bran began.

“Duties, Your Grace?” Jaime answered, confused. He had not given thought to anything beyond mending his relationship with Brienne. He certainly as not adverse to working for his keep, but wondered what there would be for him to do.

“Yes.” Bran continued, as if he already knew how he would fill Jaime’s time. “Lord Tyrion, you have worked harder than any other, restoring the Red Keep and ensuring the well-being of the Realm.” He complimented.

“Happy to do so, Your Grace.” Tyrion nodded.

“Even so. I will not have my Hand worked to death.” Bran said, almost graciously. “I believe you could use an assistant.” He determined. “For now, Ser Jaime will fit that role nicely.” Bran announced.

Tyrion and Jaime looked at each other, apprehensively. They were close, yes. But work together, and with Jaime as the subordinate? That had never occurred to them. In the few moments that passed between them, Jaime’s stance grew more reluctant, while Tyrion seemed to warm to the idea.

Finally, it was Tyrion who spoke. “Another inspired idea. Your Grace.” He beamed. Jaime sulked.

The matter had been decided. Bran wore a look of satisfaction as he motioned toward the door. “If you would do me the kindness of finding a guard to push my chair back to the throne room, I will leave you both to work out the details of the assistant’s responsibilities.” Bran said to Tyrion, cordially.

“One moment, please, Your Grace.” Tyrion beckoned as he headed quickly to the door. To his relief, he found a guard patrolling the passageway, only paces from his solar. He bid the armored man to see to the safety of the King.

Before leaving, Bran had one more request of Jaime. “I will see you at the Small Council meeting this afternoon.” He said. Jaime could not tell if the King had presented to him a statement or a question.

“Me, Your Grace?” Jaime asked stupefied . “I do not sit on the Council.” He reminded.

“At present, no.” Bran said, almost prophetically. “However, as Assistant to The Hand of The King, you will want to be acquainted with the business that is discussed there.” He informed Jaime.

“Certainly.” Jaime answered nervously. He had not thought of that. Paperwork and studies and never been his strength. He hope he had not gotten in over his head. Bran seemed little concerned, as he left the brothers to themselves.

After seeing The King from his solar, Tyrion returned to Jaime, rubbing his hands together with a self-satisfied grin. “Well then, Assistant.” He smirked. “What shall be my first order?” He wondered.

Jaime rolled his eyes and gave Tryion a threatening look. “Watch it!” He warned.

Throwing up his hands in surrender, Tyrion’s expression quickly became innocent, as if no thoughts but the purest had entered his mind. “Calm yourself.” He attempted to placate Jaime’s anger.

“Be calm?” Jaime questioned furiously. “How is being at your beck and call going to get me closer to Brienne?” He moped.

Tyrion eyed Jaime in disbelief. “You heard King Bran, didn’t you?” He sneered. “Your presence is expected at the Small Council meetings.” Tyrion’s face lit up. “Just who do you think will also be at the Small Council meetings?” His brow shot upward in anticipation.

Jaime’s face relaxed. His eyes almost seemed to dance. He knew his presence would be an unwelcome sight for Brienne, but at least he could be near her under the auspices of doing his duty. She would be unable to refuse his attendance, and he could at least be close to her. He could watch her, study her, perhaps come up with a better plan to gain access to her, and to rebuild her trust. At the very least, he might in someway begin to prove his devotion to her. For the first time since he had regained consciousness, Jaime felt that he might actually have a future.  
—————————  
Ser Podrick Payne hurried across the courtyard of the Red Keep. He was glad that King Bran had not required he stay in the same room as Ser Jaime. Pod was unsure how he could have restrained himself from sending the man who had hurt his mentor sprawling onto the ground with one powerful strike. He wondered if the King had sensed his rage, and had sent him away to avoid just such a scene.

His thoughts were spinning out of control. The man who had been thought dead for over a year, suddenly standing alive and well in the very place he was said to have lost his life. Worse, he was the man who had broken Ser Brienne’s heart. The one who had taken advantage of the woman who had taught Podrick to be a knight, had given him his place in life. Jaime Lannister had made Ser Brienne believe he was true to her, then he had left her alone to bear the bastard child of the disgraced Kingslayer, dishonored herself by Ser Jaime’s actions. Podrick raised his chin in pride to think of how Brienne had overcome those obstacles, and thrived. He would have expected nothing less from her.

Podrick knew that Brienne had truly loved Ser Jaime with all of her heart. He had seen that between them long before they had admitted their hearts’ desires to each other. Ser Jaime had left his evil sister, and journeyed to Winterfell. He had given Brienne every reason to believe that he had chosen her, and that they would spend the rest of their lives together. That was what made the Kingslayer’s betrayal all the more heinous. Brienne had been blindsided.

The urgent squint of Pod’s stare became a glower as his mind ventured further into the time at Winterfell after the battle, to those months which had been the hardest on Brienne. During those days just after Jaime Lannister had abandoned her, she had worn a valiant face of resolved strength. It was only those closest to her, Queen Sansa and himself, who perceived the small changes in her mask of apathy that told them she was barely able to maintain the appearance of moving on without the man she loved. The sound of her weeping each night through her tightly shut door, as he had secretly checked on her, still tore at Podrickks heart.

He was proud he could be there when Brienne had discovered that she would bear Ser Jaime’s child. Podrick recalled her hidden fear as she carried the babe. Even though facing dishonor and ridicule, she had never once considered taking the moon tea, or giving up her child. She was determined to bring her babe into the world, and raise her son or daughter to be brave, strong, and honorable. All the things in which he now considered Ser Jaime Lannister to be grossly lacking.

Podrick bristled at the memory of the vile things he heard whispered behind Ser Brienne’s back, as her body had grown, and after she had delivered her babe. He had not spoken of it to her, but had sent many of those sons of dogs to the Maester to treat their wounds when he was finished with them. It had been he who paced a groove in the floor outside her chamber door as Lady Brienne had struggled to birth her child. Where Ser Jaime should have been.

The fact that Jaime had foresaken not only Brienne’s love for him, but also his renewed honor and purpose simply to restore his twisted relationship with the monster that was his own sister, could not be reconciled in Podrick’s mind to the noble knight he thought he knew. He had admired Ser Jaime for the courage to turn from all he knew and follow his heart to the woman who was more worthy of love and esteem than anyone he had ever known. Pod felt as if he were somewhere between a defensive son, and protective father when it came to Brienne. He could not abide seeing her torment, and was willing to do nearly anything to those would cause her pain.

So deep in thought was Podrick that he was at Brienne’s door before he realized it. He took a moment to draw breath and compose himself before knocking. He knew not what he would say, but wanted the news of Ser Jaime’s return to come from him. He swallowed his nerves, and his anger, and rapped solidly on the door.

After a few moments the timid small voice of the Septa who cared for Galladon answered through the still closed panel. “Who’s there?” The girl called.

“Ser Podrick Payne to see the Lord Commander.” Pod answered confidently. He imagined Brienne was just on the other side of the barred entrance.

There was no reply. The door simply opened immediately, and Podrick stepped inside. His instincts had been correct. Brienne stood directly before him, Galladon secure in her arms. The casual acquaintance would notice nothing amiss in her countenance. However, Podrick knew her too well not to see the uncharacteristic nature of her demeanor. She was tense, and Podrick could tell she had not slept. She clung to Galladon as if he were the only thing that made sense to her in the world.

“Podrick.” Brienne greeted, warmly if a bit stiffly. She was clearly preoccupied. She lowered her chin and gestured to the Septa, who bowed in understanding, and left the room urgently, giving the them the privacy to speak openly.

He was unsure how much Brienne already knew of what had transpired, but felt it his duty to impart the revelation to her. “Lord Commander.” He nodded, and followed her further into the comfort of her quarters. “I have come from The Hand’s chambers.” Podrick informed Brienne, flatly. “I fear I just be the bearer of news.” His tone masked the gravity of his announcement.

“I know, Podrick.” Brienne turned with a heavy sigh. Her glare left nothing to be mistaken. He realized that she was well aware that Ser Jaime lived.

“You know?” His brow furrowed. “How? When?” Podrick stammered through his confusion.

“Lord Tyrion imparted to me that Ser Jaime has been here in the Red Keep all this time.” Brienne told Podrick. “He described that his brother was gravely wounded in the collapse, and had been recovering ever since.” Brienne shoved the gruesome image of Jaime lying injured in the bricks from her mind, and could not keep a sneer from finding her face, as she imagined how Jaime must have clung to Cersei, sheilded her. She grew resentful upon the thought that he must have been devastated over the deaths of his sister and their child. The notion made her hold Galladon tighter.

“The Hand of the King suddenly decided to tell you this news?” He was shocked. “Would you not have been the logical choice to hear it first?” He frowned in confusion.

Brienne chuckled disdainfully. “Ser Jaime made his appearance here in my chamber last night.” She reported.

Podrick was instantly on alert. “He was here?” Pod asked, his hand traveling instinctively to the hilt of his sword.

“I awoke to him standing beside my bed, his hand in Galladon’s cradle.” Brienne nodded slowly.

“In the darkness, in the middle of the night?” Pod’s concern grew deeper. He saw the Lord Commander shutter still at the memory of the shock.

“I knew not that it was him, at first, until he spoke.” Brienne told her former squire. “I nearly ran him through.” She recounted. Podrick noticed the distant, pained look in her eyes.

“What did he want?” Podrick continued, trying to determine Jaime Lannister’s purpose for his unwelcome visit.

Brienne shook her head. “I do not know.” She admitted. “I made him leave before he could say anything.” It was not exactly true. His plaintiff plea for forgiveness had been running through her mind all day.

“And he left?” Podrick asked, wanting to ensure that the safety of Brienne and Galladon was not in jeopardy. “Without dispute?” He questioned.

Brienne’s expression was as confused as Podrick’s. “Yes.” Was all she answered. There now seemed to fear that Jaime should have come to her with malice in his thoughts. He had not tried to harm her or Galladon. Something inside Brienne told her he would not hurt either of them. He had retreated when she demanded it. It appeared that all he had wanted was to see them. As if sensing her confusion, Galladon stirred in her arms. She moved the babe to her other shoulder and settled him. Podrick regarded the infant with a sweet smile. He cleared his throat, almost reading the reaction on Brienne’s face.

“Are you...alright?” Pod questioned, uncomfortably. He knew Brienne well enough to know that she would never admit an emotional reaction to the very things that affected her the most. He knew realizing that Ser Jaime lived must have shaken Brienne to the core, he was also positive she would not show it.

Brienne straightened, and stiffened her stance. She held her head high and presented an air of detachment. “I am quite well, Ser Podrick.” She assured him. “Ser Jaime’s return changes nothing.” She assured him. “I have made a life for myself and my son. There is no place in it for the past.” She determined, nuzzling her babe closer to her neck.

Podrick gave her an understanding, and considerate look. He knew that she would be steadfast in her declaration that her life would not change, even if she did not believe it herself. “What if Ser Jaime does not hold the same wishes?” Pod asked haltingly.

“That matters not.” Brienne emphasized. “I have already informed Lord Tyrion that his brother need never make attempts to approach me or Galladon.” She assured him. Podrick doubted that a simple warning would be enough to keep Ser Jaime away.

“And...” Podrick paused. “If he does not heed your words?” He did not mean to press her, but he wanted Brienne to realize that keeping The Kingslayer at a distance may not be as easy she thought.

Brienne did not budge. “Then, I will protect us.” She asserted.

Podrick considered her words, and her pain. He knew that Brienne could easily take care of herself. However, he did not wish to see any further distress added upon that which had already suffered. His thoughtful concern turned to a deadly glare. He would do anything to protect Ser Brienne and her son.

Taking a step forward, almost as if volunteering, Podrick laid his hand formally upon his sword, and stared at Brienne. “My Lady.” Podrick began bravely. “Say the word, and The Kingslayer will not live through the night.” He vowed.

For a moment, Brienne could not speak. She was touched by Podrick’s devotion to her and her child. She was also desperate that he not make a hasty mistake that would cost the young knight his future. “Podrick.” She began warmly. “You have made me more proud than you could ever know.” She boasted. “No one could have asked for a better squire. Now, you have become an accomplished warrior.” She said, remembering how diligently he had stayed by her side, never once foresaking her, even when her dishonor threatened everything for which she herself had worked. Her face softened to think of the man he had become. So confident and self assured. Worlds from the boy who had left Kings Landing with her so long ago.

“You are more than my former squire.” She declared warmly. “You are my friend.” Brienne told him earnestly. “I would never ask that of you.” She swore. Podrick lowered his head, not wanting her to see the emotion that choked his expression.

“You would be executed.” Brienne said, shuddering at the thought. “I shall not risk your future, all you have accomplished, and all you will achieve to avenge a wrong visited upon me.” She said. “I will not allow you to risk your life. Not for me.” Brienne determined. Pod lowered his eyes at her caring.

“I do not want you to ever speak of this again.” She demanded. “Promise me.” Brienne beseeched.

Pod nodded his reluctant agreement, still wishing he could find a way to take the weight of the discovery of Ser Jaime from her mind. “Yes Ser.” He agreed. “I give you my promise.” He capitulated.

“Very well, then.” Brienne brightened, satisfied. “I will see you shortly, in the Small Council chamber.” She offered as Galladon began to squirm in in her arms, fussing for his midday meal.

Podrick bowed and then snapped to attention. “Yes, My Lady.” Brienne walked him to the door to see him out. Podrick followed her reverently.

Once the door was open, Brienne stood blocking his path for a moment. She looked at him graciously. “Thank you, Podrick.” Brienne said softly. He acknowledged her gratitude with a heartfelt dip of his chin. It was not only his messengering the news of Ser Jaime that she appreciated. It was his unwavering allegiance and support that she recognized. There was no need for her to say anymore, he understood. Podrick then stood straight and noble in his golden armor. He gave one final glance, as if reminding the Lord Commander that he would fulfill any demand she placed upon him without question. Then, Podrick turned and quietly left Brienne to her own thoughts.

Brienne secured the door, and held her babe close to her. Her mind replaying the events of the morning, and the previous night, she made her way to chair by the hearth. Brienne barely noticed her path. As she looked fondly into the face of her child. She recalled how angry she had been upon realizing that it was Jaime, alive and well, who had stood at her beside in the darkness. She heard all the unanswered question, and felt her determination burning within as she had bid Lord Tyrion to make it clear to Jaime that she never wanted to see him again.

As Brienne relaxed into the chair and took her babe to her breast, other images played so clearly upon her mind. She felt the moment of wonder she had known when she had knelt upon the stone with Jaime in her bedchamber only a short time before. She had, for just a moment, been relieved that had not perished. For a brief instant, she had pictured once more, a life with him. The one she had wanted when he came to her at Winterfell. The one he had taken from them. It had been a sweet dream, for a while.

Brienne knew that Podrick had meant every word of his threat against Jaime. She had seen how the boy had rallied around her, and seen to her every need in the months that followed Jaime’s departure. Pod had been a true champion. Some hardened part of her deep within, had wanted to accept Podrick’s offer, and let him have his revenge upon the man who had torn her heart to shreds. However, Brienne knew she could not let that happen. She looked down into the face of her babe, Jaime’s son, so tiny and innocent, and realized what had caused her to stop Podrick’s angry pursuit. The realization hit her like the tons of bricks that buried her child’s father, and nearly took his life. Brienne could not bear the thought of Jaime dying...again.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the meeting of King Bran’s Small Council, Brienne is shocked to find that Jaime has been appointed Tyrion’s assistant. What troubles her most is the strength of the love she still feels for him.

“Well, I’ll be fooked up the arse!” Lord Bronn the Master of Coin, heralded in his own unique fashion, peering over Ser Davos Seaworth’s shoulder, halting their barely civil conversation in the Small Council chamber.

“Ser Jaime!” Samwell Tarly, Grande Maester of The Six Kingdoms, proclaimed looking up in shock from his seat at the council table.

Bronn eyed the Kingslayer with an amused yet stunned expression. “Jaime Fooking Lannister.” He chuckled, as if he should have known that the same man who had been either brave enough, or fool-hearty enough, to charge a dragon on the Gold Road would not be felled by a few falling chunks of rock.

Jaime simply glared at him as he entered the room behind Tyrion. During the time since his talk with King Bran earlier, Jaime had bathed and groomed, and was now outfitted in a grand suit of Lannister leather armor that Tyrion had stored away for him. He appeared a stately glorious lion, true to his name and Sigil. If those in the room had not known better, they would have thought him freshly arrived in the capital from Casterly Rock.

Davos turned and followed Jaime with his eyes, dumbfounded with surprise. Clearing his throat, he was at last able to speak. “Back from the dead.” The Onion Knight acknowledged.

“It would seem, Ser Davos.” Jaime agreed, only his eyes giving hint to the discomfort he felt at the scrutiny of the prying gazes from the council.

Tyrion was immediately annoyed at his fellow members of King Bran’s inner circle. “Honestly, you would think we had never seen someone recovered from injury before.” He said dismissively, suddenly feeling very protective of his brother.

“It is quite a bit more remarkable than that, Lord Hand.” Ser Davos answered.

“That’s a Godsdamn understatement.” Bronn chuckled, finding the whole situation a great comedy.

Sam Tarly stood, examining him from a distance. “How are you feeling, Ser Jaime?” He asked with concern, but still not quite comfortable in his new commanding role.

Even during his time at Winterfell, Jaime had barely noticed the awkward man, far too young to have reached the station he now held. Strangely, Jaime was grateful for Tarly’s consideration. “I am quite well, Grand Maester. Thank you.” Jaime answered.

“I am glad to hear it.” Sam smiled. “If you should need anything, please do not hesitate to call upon me any time.” He offered kindly. Jaime bowed his head in appreciative acceptance.

Jaime glanced over those in attendance waiting for King Bran. He swallowed the self conscious knot in his chest. He was once the greatest fighter in the realm. He himself had sat at the very table which took up most of the room, long before any of them had even imagined serving in their revered roles. Why was it he who should feel so nervous and out of place? Clearing his throat, Jaime tried his best to laugh off their ogling.

“Judging from your reactions, it appears you have all believed the exaggerated reports of my death.” He chuckled, trying to paint them as the fools.

Bronn gave a sideways snicker. “It’s not our reactions that you need to worry about.” He remarked, smirking. Everyone knew that Jaime had fathered the Lord Commander’s child, and had unceremoniously left her before she had even become aware of the babe. Brienne of Tarth had not so much as spoken Jaime Lannister’s name to any of them, undoubtedly burying her anger deep. She was a formidable woman. He would not have missed this particular reunion for all the whores in Kings Landing.

As if on cue, Brienne strode commandingly into the room, proud and tall in her golden Kingsguard armor. She took Jaime’s breath away. For an instant, she did not see him, her mind focused on the matters she wished to discuss with the council. It gave him a moment to lose himself in the image of her. His blood rushed at the memory of the passions they had shared. His tongue tasted the sweetness of her kiss. His heart raced with the eternal love he held for her. The very bones within his skin ached at her power and loveliness. For so long he had dreamed of the magnificent woman before him, now, he could only gaze upon her from a distance. She had been his, and he had gloried in their love. It was real, the most genuine emotion he had ever known, and here she was, so close to him again. His breath stopped when he realized that Oathkeeper still hung proudly at her side. She still held the symbol of love which he had given to her, his own heart. It gave Jaime hope. He would only enjoy that buoyant optimism of his first sight of her for a moment. Then, she saw him.

Brienne froze in her tracks. Her eyes fell upon Jaime, her face registering what could only be described as outrage, after the shock dissipated. She reddened with anger, barely able to draw breath through the paralyzing stunned furor that washed over her. It felt that all eyes in the room were riveted upon her, waiting to see how she would react. As with all those in her life who had tried to wrench emotion from her, Brienne would not give them that satisfaction. She simply regarded Jaime contemptuously as she passed, and then sat stiffly in her chair, her back to him.

Brienne’s glare as she moved through the room made Jaime feel the size of an insect. He had not meant to cause her such distress, and wished she would have had more warning for his presence there. It seemed he was doing everything wrong. The eyes of the room had moved to him, gauging his response to Brienne’s ignoring him so coldly. Jaime did not care. His only concern was how deeply she must be suffering. His pained eyes watched her from behind. Even through her armor, Jaime could see the unintended quickness of her breathing. He could almost hear the racing of her heart.

Jaime ached to speak with Brienne, to say something that would bring her comfort, and ease her distress. They were but paces from each other, and he had never felt so distanced from anyone. He wanted all of the others in the room to vanish. Everything there was for him to tell her, was for no one else to hear. Instead of falling to his knees before the woman he loved and declaring himself to her, Jaime simply followed Tyrion, and took the only empty chair available. He sat, an afterthought, behind Tarly and Davos. At least it put him facing Brienne, within the field of her vision. Her agonized glare did not move from the table top.

He sat for only a moment staring intently at Brienne, who looked a though she wanted to nothing more than to turn to dust, when his imaginings were interrupted by the King. The council stood, respectfully as the young monarch entered, his wheeled chair pushed by Ser Podrick Payne. From across the room Jaime could see Podrick instantly tense at the sight of him. He was certain that if given the chance, the King’s Sworn Shield would take great pleasure in running him through. Jaime could not blame him, and noticed how with a turn of his head, Podrick quickly checked to ensure that Brienne was alright. He was grateful, and glad she had such a friend. If he could not watch over her, Jaime knew Podrick would.

“I see we are all here.” Bran almost smiled, as Podrick settled his chair at the head of the table and stepped back.

“Yes.” Bronn smirked. “All of us.” He jeered, rolling his eyes at Jaime.

It was Brienne who furthered that discussion. “Your Grace, if I may.” She began. “Ser Jaime is not a member of the Small Council.” She pointed out needlessly. “Perhaps his presence here could be viewed as inappropriate. Would it not be better that he should wait elsewhere until our proceedings are concluded?” Her question was more of an urgent suggestion. Never once did Brienne bring her eyes to Jaime, her jaw set in a steely resolve.

King Bran nodded as if he knew Brienne would object. “I appreciate your concern, Lord Commander.” He acknowledged. “However, I have asked that Ser Jaime observe our business in these meetings.” Brienne seemed shocked. “I have appointed him as Assistant to the Hand of the King, and it would be best if he were aware of the business of the Council.” His authoritative tone made it clear that the matter would not be discussed. Jaime watched Brienne, trying to gauge her level of contempt but hoping for her approval. All he saw as the slight grinding of her teeth.

“Of course, Your Grace.” Brienne nodded, conceding her stance without argument, but Jaime could tell, quite reluctantly.

“Shall we begin?” King Bran asked of his closest advisors. There were no objections.

Jaime spent the rest of the afternoon, seated behind his brother, never taking his eyes from Brienne. She did a valiant job of not looking at him once. If it had not been for the aching in his heart, and the concentration he had riveted upon Brienne, Jaime would have been bored to distraction. Even in his short tenure as Lord Commander, Jaime had given little attention to such monotonous bureaucracy. He was a man of action. Then, it had meant battle. Now, it was finding a way to win back Brienne’s heart which obsessed his thoughts.

Against his will, Jaime was finally dragged from his study of Brienne when the conversation turned to Tyrion and his report on matters regarding the realm. It was when his brother noted that his agents had sent word of a build up of Essosi forces on the western border of the distant continent, that Jaime found another cause for concern. Tyrion had chosen a pseudonym for his more covert associates which Jaime understood meant spies. He wondered at the need for them. Jaime could hear the urgency in his brother’s tone. He understood that Tyrion, who had been part of Daenarys Targaryen’s amassing of an army from that exotic land, also realized what it could mean to Westeros. Both of their brains screamed invasion.

Bran nodded, his expression giving the matter some reflection, but not the gravity which Jaime felt it deserved. Unable to stay quiet in the matter, not when Brienne’s safety and that of their son could be in jeopardy, Jaime spoke up. “Excuse me, Your Grace.” He interjected. “The matters in Essos are extremely concerning. Westeros is weakened and, forgive me, your reign unproven. Now, would be the time that ambitious leaders in other lands might decide to attack.” He explained. “You have no Master of War to lead your men, should such a strike occurs.” He tried to advise the King.

Brienne cleared her throat, and attempted to halt Jaime’s plea, although she knew he was right to be worried. “Your Grace, Ser Jaime does not sit on the Council. I do not think his advice is necessarily warranted here.” She reminded, raising her chin defiantly.

Bran quieted her objection with an understanding stoicism. “Thank you Lord Commander, but I think we can give credence to Ser Jaime’s expertise in the matter.” Brienne’s face fell, as she realized that it appeared Jaime was to be an unofficial member of the Small Council.

“Ser Jaime.” Bran turned his attention to his Hand’s new assistant, willing to take his opinion into account. “Rest assured, we will pay the utmost heed to events regarding Essos.” He promised. “As for the Master of War seat, it will be filled in due time and with the right person, you have my word.” Bran swore, leaving Jaime with more questions than answers.

“If there is no more to discuss at present, our business here is adjourned.” Bran declared, the look upon his face making it evident that his mind was already moving to more transitory matters. He motioned for Ser Podrick to escort him from the room. The council rose as the King exited. Jaime saw his chance.

Brienne stood behind her chair and took a step away from the others, watching King Bran leave. The path to her was clear, he had to try. Springing from his seat, Jaime covered the distance between the in a split second. At least he was near her. “Brienne.” He said when he reached her, his voice soft and gentle. He stood so close, they Brienne could almost feel his breath on her neck. She gasped as if a clap of thunder had startled her. She did not turn to face him, but followed quickly upon the same path by which the King had left.

Jaime’s voice grew louder, more pleading, as he called after her. “Please Brienne.” He begged. “I need to speak with you.” He felt his fleeting moment of hope slip through his fingers like sand as he watched her round the doorway and disappear into the hall. He stood in her wake, certain that his shattering heart could be heard by everyone.

Bronn, of course, was the only one in the room who lacked either the good judgement or the common concern to at least pretend he had not seen the exchange between Jaime and Brienne. He sidled up to Jaime, overly satisfied with his self-supposed sense of humor. “You’ve got a pretty deadly woman angry with you, my friend.” Bronn chuckled.

“We’re not friends.” Jaime sneered, only moving his gaze from Brienne’s path long enough to glare at Bronn.

“Maybe not.” Bronn continued. “But take a little friendly advice, from someone whose has had plenty of women mad at him.” He offered, unsolicited. “Never underestimate the fury of a woman.” He warned, his eyes flashing.

Jaime rolled his eyes in disgust, and left Bronn standing there, laughing. He made it to the hallway, but found Brienne already gone. There was no sign of her. Jaime wanted to go after her, to plead his case. Instead a hand on his elbow drew Jaime from his doubts.

“Come, Brother.” Tyrion smiled considerately up at him. “Let us drown your sorrows.” He suggested.

The only thing Jaime wished to do was follow Brienne. He longed to chase her down, and declare himself the fool he knew he was. However, he feared Bronn might be correct. He was certain he was the last person Brienne wanted to see.  
————————————  
Brienne took the deserted passageway at a near run. The shock and embarrassment she had felt at coming face to face with Jaime in the Small Council chamber, had subsided. All that remained was the steady aching pain she had felt since the moment he had ridden away from her, the hurt that refused to leave. She feared she would never be free of it. The pain would not allow her celebrate that he still lived, or even to be kind to him. It made her terrified to admit what her heart already knew, her feelings for him had never died.

Reaching the end of the long hallway, before determining to turn right or left and continue her fleeing, Brienne paused for a moment. She almost expected to hear his footsteps behind her, hurrying to catch up. Part of her wished for the echo of his boots upon the stones. Brienne knew that if she turned to see his face coming toward her, she would powerless to resist him. She had felt his stare boring into her in the Small Council chamber. It had taken all she had not to raise her eyes and lose herself in the emerald depths of his.

Almost as soon as the thoughts formed in her mind, Brienne felt her resolve failing her. It made her angry with herself. She could not allow her fury to fade. She could not open herself to his rejection again. Brienne could not imagine what allowing Jaime back into her life would mean. Would she awaken on some other cold night to find him gone. She doubted she could survive that heartbreak a second time, and she would not subject her child to it.

At the convergence of another corridor, Brienne’s feet refused to push on another step. Her breath failed in her lungs. She knew that at any moment the tears she had choked back as she sat only a short distance from Jaime would explode forth, uncontrollably. She was desperate to find privacy, away from those who might find her in a moment of weakness.

Searching desperately, Brienne’s troubled gaze fell upon a windowless alcove, deserted and forgotten. She forced her feet to carry her the last few steps to reach the shadowy darkness it would provide. Once inside, she pressed herself against the wall just beside its arched entrance, and fought to catch her breath. Her eyes closed, relishing the hiding in the tiny bay. Through the tears that seeped from her closed lids, Brienne’s mind replayed the scene of a few moments before. Her body reacted to Jaime having come upon her from behind. He had frightened her, not simply his unexpected approach, but the feelings he brought to the surface. She had thought them buried, had hoped them to be so. As she sat in the Council chamber fighting herself not to look at Jaime, Brienne realized her longing for him was as strong as it ever was. She brought her fingers to her lips, remembering the touch of his kiss upon her skin. Her body blazed at the memory of the passion they had shared. Her heart ached with the love she had always held for him. She could not let it overtake her, not this time.

Slowly, softly, regretfully Brienne opened her eyes. Her breathing slowed, and she swallowed hard against the emotions constricting her throat. She knew that if Jaime were standing before her at that moment, she have easily succumbed to the emotions rising within her. Gods, she still loved him. With all of her heart, she loved him.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A desperate search. The possibility of a heart wrenching loss. Brienne tries to trust Jaime in her most terrifying hour.

The weeks passed in Kings Landing, uneasily, for both Brienne and Jaime. He was desperate to somehow get closer to her. She did her best to avoid him as much as possible. With the exception of the night he had stole into the Lord Commander’s chamber and stood over his son’s cradle, Jaime had yet to glimpse the boy up close. Brienne kept the child as much distanced from him as she could. Even through his yearning to be near to both of them, Jaime understood. He had created the doubt, the mistrust, and the foreboding within her heart. Yet, while he could not blame her, he prayed for a change in their situation.

Brienne spent much her free time with their child either strolling along the pathways of the Red Keep whispering unheard affections into the babe’s ear, or sprawling upon a blanket with him in the gardens fully delighting in showing him the wonders of the world into which he been born. There was not one of these intimate moments that Jaime did not witness. He attempted to secret himself out of her vision, not wanting to make her uncomfortable during her maternal revelries. He was unsure if Brienne was aware of his presence as he watched her entertaining young Galladon, or if she was simply very good at ignoring the possibility that his caring eyes were upon them. Jaime tried to make himself believe that staring at them from afar was enough as he lost himself in watching their bond.

Tyrion had been correct in his description of Brienne’s motherly skills. Jaime had never seen a mother love a child as much as she obviously adored their son. No woman he had ever known had shown such an innate understanding of her child’s needs, or seemed so happy when in the presence of her babe. Not even Cersei had been as fulfilled by her children as Brienne was with hers. Jaime shook the horrid memory of his sister out of his head. He did not wish anything of her to stain what time he was allowed with Brienne and the child they shared, even it was only hidden at a distance.

During one long lazy afternoon, Jaime stood obscured behind a large ancient tree, and strained to behold Brienne as she lavished all of her attentions upon their babe. Never had he seen a more joyous smile upon anyone’s face, as she sat upon a spread quilt in the shade of the leafy canopy of the gardens. He watched her gently moving the boy’s arms and legs in time to a song she sang, but which Jaime stood at too a great distance to hear. He could have witnessed her delight forever. His heart sang to him that the gods had seen fit to grow his seed within Brienne’s womb, and not Cersei’s. His mind recalled the torment at believing he owed his loyalty to another within whom he had accidentally laid a babe. He had never been so glad to be the victim of someone’s lie in all his life. Except that it had taken him from Brienne’s side, his relief at not having actually fathered another child by his evil sister, was overwhelming. If only he could tell Brienne of his joy.

Jaime smiled in amusement as Brienne lifted their child above her head, and blew kisses upon his tiny belly again and again. Her smile rivaled the bright rays of the sun that sparkled around her shady refuge. So immersed in his happy observance was Jaime that he absent-mindedly stepped from his hiding place among the branches. He stood in the open, awed by the beauty of Brienne with their son. She saw him, almost immediately.

In an instant, Brienne’s expression changed from one of sheer bliss, to a stoic glare. She eyed him suspiciously for a moment. Then Brienne wrapped Galladon in her arms, and held him close to her. She stood hurriedly and gathered the items she had brought for his care into a cloth satchel which she hung from her shoulder. Without turning to regard Jaime, Brienne lifted her chin and strode indignantly from the garden with Galladon shielded from view, leaving the father of her child standing with only his regret and the empty pit in his chest. His gaze stared along the path she had taken long after her retreat. Once he was able to move again, Jaime walked sadly to where they had been and retrieved the quilt Brienne had left from its resting place upon the grass. He held it close to his heart, as she he wished he could Brienne and their child, and breathed deep the scent of them which still lingered on its fibers. He would wrap himself in it as he slept from that night forward.  
——————————  
“She will not let me anywhere near them.” Jaime lamented to Tyrion, a short time after he had been left standing in the gardens. “She flees whenever I am near. As if I might harm them.” His face was clouded with despair as he described his pain to his brother.

Tyrion studied the torment in Jaime’s eyes. “You know you could have the child declared yours by law.” He suggested.

“Force her hand?” Jaime asked in disbelief.

“It would be an option.” Tyrion offered. “He is your heir. Legally, he would wear your name. You could provide for him, for his future.” He listed pragmatically.

Jaime shook his head. “It is not just an heir I want.” His voice rose in contempt. “I want my son, and his mother.” He declared.

Tyrion realized he had offended his heartbroken brother. “I am simply saying, then Brienne would have no choice but to allow your access to them.” He stated.

“Out of the question.” Jaime proclaimed. “This has to be on Brienne’s terms.” He vowed. “She is his mother. I will not take that authority from her.” He insisted.

“And if she never lets you in?” Tyrion pushed. “I supposed you will be content to watch them from afar for the rest of your life?” He painted a painful image, hoping to spur his brother to some kind of action.

“I pray it will not come to that.” Jaime’s glare was distant, fearing that was exactly what might become of him.  
———————————  
At the Small Council meeting the next day, Jaime barely heard a word that was spoken. The blood rushed into his ears with such speed and force, it obscured most of the business being conducted by those in attendance. He sat staring at Brienne, as he always did during these gatherings. This day was different, however. This day Jaime had decided that he would not give Brienne the opportunity to escape from him. He would make her speak to him. Whatever it might bring.

Jaime’s chance presented itself sooner than he expected as King Bram adjourned the meeting early. Everyone in the room rose as The King left, and then began to filter out of the chamber. Brienne rose from her chair and took a moment to gather the scrolls and documents she had brought to review with the council. Jaime wasted no time in jumping from his seat and cornering her as she turned to leave. He stood before her, closer than he had since she had demanded he leave her quarters the night he had made his presence known to her. With an urgency born of his love for her, Jaime blocked her escape.

“Brienne, please.” He begged. “I must speak with you.” His heart pounded in his chest as the words left his mouth. She attempted to swerve around him. He moved to counter her departure.

“Please. I need to talk to you.” Jaime repeated. “About our son.” He pleaded.

Brienne stopped dead in her tracks, her stare ripping through him. “Our son?” She smirked. Jaime stood silent, hoping she would at least agree to his request.

She drew a deep breath, and was silent for a moment, her face never changing from hateful disdain. “There is no need for false concern.” She hissed at him. “I know he is not the babe you wanted.” She indicted. Although she had her suspicions during their time together at Winterfell, word had later filtered to the North that Cersei had declared herself to being carrying Jaime’s child. That child had been lost to him along with its mother in the destruction of King’s landing Brienne was certain that, after having left her to return to his sister, Galladon would have been Jaime’s second choice as an heir. She would not allow her child to know the disappointment of a father who did not truly want him.

The shattered pieces of Jaime’s heart turned to dust in his chest as he saw the hurt and resolution in Brienne’s eyes. He needed her to know that Galladon was exactly the child for which he had prayed. If she would only let him speak. “Brienne, No. I...” He began, stricken by her assumption.

He could almost see her swallow the lump in her throat as she refused to let him continue. “You need not trouble yourself, Ser Jaime.” Brienne seethed. “My son will never darken your doorstep.” She assured him. “He shall never make any claims upon your name, your title, or your lands.” Brienne swore with a steeled jaw, and then regarded him with contempt and all the assuredness of a woman who needed nothing from anyone for her survival. “We shall never ask you for anything.” She asserted, looking him squarely in the eyes. The depths of her anger chilled Jaime to the bone. He could only stand speechless as she edged her way passed him, and left the Council chamber.  
—————————-  
It had been nearly a fortnight since Jaime had cornered Brienne in the Council chamber. He had not tried to speak to her again, and he felt as if he wanted nothing more than to crawl out of his skin. His hope of having any chance of winning back his Lady Knight was fast failing, leaving his heart a lifeless stone within him. He thought to himself that he might as well have let the Dead take him at Winterfell, or succumbed to his injuries from the bricks. He was little more than a walking carcass, going about the duties of his days in a dull stupor. Without Brienne’s love to sustain him, Jaime doubted he would last long anyway.

To the casual onlooker, it would seem that Brienne was unphased, and had overcome her shock at Jaime’s return. However, behind her mask of duty and diligence, Brienne was in as much pain as Jaime. Each time she saw him, the hurt and bitterness of his leaving would surge fresh through their veins, and her heart would ache for what they once shared. Most of the time her anger even overshadowed the love for him which still burned within her. Brienne could not fathom that his attempts toward communicating with her were spurred out of anything but the need to tie us loose ends, or want of an heir. After all they had been through, all he had done, surely it was not love that guided his actions. She wished with all of her heart that it could be different, but saw no way she could ever forgive him.

It was Jaime who occupied Brienne’s thoughts as she returned to her quarters late in the afternoon of a busy day, eager to relax and care for her child. She had been forced to conduct business with Lord Tyrion in his solar, which meant Jaime had been but mere paces from her. They had not said a word to each other, but she felt his eyes upon her just as she did each time they sat in the Small Council chamber. Her brow furrowed with threatening tears as she entered the comfortable rooms she shared with her babe.

Just the thought of Galladon brightened Brienne’s face as she made her way toward her bedchamber. She had expected to find Septa Vaele sitting with Galladon in the parlor, but assumed the girl must be watching the boy nap, when she found her small solar empty. She opened the door quietly, and readied herself to forget all else when finally her tired eyes beheld her child. Brienne stopped short when she found that room unoccupied as well. She turned quickly and walked back through the apartments, almost expecting that she had missed them. The alarm of not knowing the whereabouts of her infant son began to grow in her.

Brienne forced her heart to calm, as she stepped into the hallway of the White Sword Tower. Surely, there was a reasonable explanation as to where Galladon could be. Brienne felt certain that the septa had simply taken him to the gardens, or was walking with him in the courtyard, and had lost track of the time. She made haste to the gardens, not finding any sign of them in the courtyard as she passed. By the time she reached the main path through the flowering rows, Brienne’s heart was pounding in her ears, her stomach was a sick knot in her belly.

Her worry was overwhelming, Brienne searched at a frenzied pace. Her thoughts came so disjointed that a plan would not form in her mind. She did not see the faces of those who regarded her as she peered frantically into each shadowed walkway and outbuilding she passed. By the time she had no choice left but to retrace her steps, her urgent stride had become a full out run. Still there was no sign of Galladon. Never, during all of the battles in which she fought had fear to incapacitate her as it did now, making logic impossible. However, she had never before been a frightened mother, searching for her missing child. Brienne's terror consumed her.

Outside the Small Hall near The Tower of the Hand, Brienne found Ser Podrick deep in conversation with Lord Tyrion. As she approached she was not aware that Jaime stood on their opposite side. “Podrick.” Brienne gasped, struggling to catch her breath. “I need your help.” Her voice quivered with fear. Jaime was immediately concerned.

“Brienne.” Jaime spoke up, rushing to her side. “What is the matter?” He questioned urgently. Never before had he seen her in such a state of panic. Something was horribly wrong. He reached out as if to steady her, but pulled back his hand unsure if she would allow it, even now. Podrick and Tyrion were instantly on the alert as well.

“I can’t...” Brienne began, her words forming ahead of her thoughts. Her eyes scanned the spaces near to her, still searching. “I cannot find Galladon!” She sputtered, afraid to say the words.

“What do you mean, you cannot find him?” Jaime stepped closer, certain he had heard her wrong. “He is with his Septa, is he not.” The babe’s father could feel his heart tighten in his chest at the thought of his son’s possible peril.

“They are both gone.” Brienne informed him, trembling. “I have looked everywhere.” She reported breathlessly, tears forming in her worried eyes. Without hesitation, almost instinctively, her eyes searched Jaime’s face as if he was the only one in the world who could help her.

Jaime realized that she was not even considering her anger toward him, and took Brienne by the arms. She did not resist. “We will all search. They cannot be far.” He tried to give her hope through the despair growing within him.

“I will check the stables, and the outbuildings.” Podrick offered trying to be calm for Brienne. “I will order the gates closed.” He gave her a dutiful nod, and set off immediately.

“I shall inform The King.” Tyrion insisted, wasting no time setting off toward the throne room.

“Come with me.” Jaime told Brienne. “We will look for them by the sea wall.” He was moving her in the direction of the courtyard, the animosity between them seemed to have vanished, replace by concern for their son.

As they rushed across the bailey, Jaime could not help but see the tenuous thread of stability onto which Brienne was clinging. Her world was falling apart. His was not far from imploding, himself. He could not bear the thought of any harm befalling his child, nor could he imagine the abyss into which Brienne would plummet if something did. There was no sign of Galladon, or Septa Vaele when they reached the steps which descended to the rocky jetties that stretched into the sea. Jaime watched the hope fade from Brienne’s eyes. It was not the first time he had been witness the dying of the light within their blue depths. Jaime had seen a spark flicker and dim there at Winterfell when she begged him not to go. If he could, he would will Galladon into her arms then and there. As it were all he was able do was to help Brienne hold fast to the small shred of faith that was failing her. She stood before him now, her glance fixed upon the empty vista before her eyes, trying to hold onto the belief that she would see her child again soon. Jaime prayed to the Gods that the day would end with Galladon safely returned to them.

This time he took Brienne’s hand, and led her from the scene of her disappointment. “Let us check your quarters.” He offered. “Perhaps they have returned.” Brienne nodded, too afraid to hope. Quickly they made their way to the White Sword Tower.

Bitter disappointment was to be waiting for them again. They did not find Galladon or his Septa in Brienne’s chambers. Once more, Jaime led Brienne away, his brain grasping for another place to search, but running out of options. As they descended the stairway of the Tower, Jaime felt Brienne’s hand pull from his. She no longer followed. He turned back to a heart wrenching scene.

Brienne stood a few steps above him, frozen in her tracks, trembling, her hand clutching the railing so tightly her knuckles were white. The rest of her had gone gray with despair. Her chest heaved to catch the air for which she gasped. She stared at him, although he was not sure if she saw him.

“Where is he?” Brienne beseeched Jaime, as if he could answer. She did not wait for his attempt at calming her, but raised her terrified eyes to the Heavens and cried out. “Oh Gods, where is my baby?” She sobbed. She choked on the sounds that rose from her throat so violently that Jaime was certain it was all Brienne could do not to vomit. He feared she might collapse.

“He is well.” Jaime tried to encourage her. “Brienne you must believe that. He has to be.” He tried to make himself rely on the same words he spoke to the mother of his lost little boy.

“What if we do not find him?” Brienne stared at Jaime as if she saw him for the first time since their ordeal had begun.

Jaime covered the few steps to her and took her hand. “Listen to me.” He stared earnestly into her pained eyes. “I will find him. I will bring our son back to you if it the last thing I ever do.” He did not realize he was shaking with the solemnity of his pledge. “I swear it.” He vowed. Brienne searches his eyes for any sign of falsehood, any hint that she could not trust him, but found none. She thought she should want to shy from his grip but she did not. It felt good to have him so close, to hear his oath for their child, to hold his hand. All Brienne could do was stare at him. For Jaime it was enough.

Slowly Brienne gathered herself and nodded, telling Jaime she was ready to continue their search. They followed the staircase to the ground, still clinging to each other hands.

“Ser Brienne. Ser Jaime.” King Bran’s voice beckoned them as they reached the bottom step. They turned to see the monarch being wheeled in their direction by Podrick Payne, Tyrion rushing at his side. “Lord Tyrion had informed me that the whereabouts of your son are in question.” He said, his calm demeanor in sharp contrast to those of the babe’s parents.

“He is missing, Your Grace.” Brienne confirmed, trying to still her shaking and calm her voice to address the King. She did not realize that her hand still clasped tightly to Jaime’s as he stood breathless beside her.

Bran nodded, considering her words. Then his eyes grew distant, and he appeared to be watching a scene from someplace else. “I believe you will find your babe in the Godswood.” He told them almost casually.

“The Godswood, Your Grace?” Jaime asked, uncertainly.

Bran gave Jaime a knowing glance. “Yes. I sense him there.” Bran reported.

Eager for any course of action, Brienne sighed with hope. “Thank you, Your Grace. Thank you.” She eyed Jaime hopefully.

Jaime was still unsure of the powers of the Three-Eyed Raven, and he hoped the young Stark’s prediction would not lead to more heartache for Brienne. At that moment, however, the hope in her eyes was worth laying his faith on Bran’s words, at least for her sake. Jaime nodded to Brienne, and was racing hand in hand with her toward the Godswood before they could draw another breath, Tyrion fast upon their heals. Podrick quickly turned Bran’s chair and wheeled him in the direction the others had run.  
——————————  
Brienne and Jaime reached the ancient stones that descended to the Godswood of the Red Keep, breathless from their run and the anxiety of their worry. For a moment nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Gentle sunshine warmed the rocks beneath their feet, while the light breeze rustled the surrounding leaves, as if the trees themselves were singing a soft lullaby. Brienne heard it first, the soft, almost muffled distant sound of her child’s cry. She rushed down the steps with Jaime close behind, and Tyrion just reaching the stairs. Her head spun around frantically, as she scanned the aisle of gnarled branches which led to the vine covered great oak that was the Weirwood tree there.

Jaime joined Brienne in her frenzied quest. The sound of his son’s wail echoed in his ears and nearly drove him mad. The plaintiff sound grew louder as they traversed the path. At his brother’s side, Tyrion provided another set of eyes to aid the search.

“He’s here!” Brienne confirmed. “But, where?” She shouted, her eyes wild with worry. No sooner had the words left her then she saw a wriggling little bundle, wrapped in a quilt which she recognized from her son’s cradle. Galladon’s needful voice rose from his resting place, hidden in the overgrown brambles beneath a tree, calling for his mother.

Within moments Brienne was on her knees before the thickets, pulling her child from the tangle of branches and dry leaves, and cradling him in her arms. Her relieved sobbed joined with his whines of recognition as the babe realized he was finally held in her comforting embrace. Jaime raced to Brienne and fell to his knees beside her. Instinctively, he draped his handless arm around Brienne’s shoulders. She did not notice his affectionate gesture. So taken with relief at finding Galladon, Jaime did not realize that Brienne did not shy away. She rocked their child, and nestled him against her neck, her relieved tears falling down her cheeks and trailing onto her babe’s soft head.

“Is he alright?” Jaime questioned urgently, running his fingers over the babe, checking the boy for wounds or broken bones. He had never felt such a weight lifted from his heart. Tyrion stood beside them, catching his breath, his mind at last eased with Galladon found safe.

Brienne came to herself enough to answer Jaime. “I think so.” She brought the Galladon around in her gentle hands to face them. The babe sweetly smiled at them. Together she and Jaime scrutinized every inch of their son, to be sure. “How did he get here?” She stammered, again peering at Jaime for answers he did not have.

“Where is his Septa?” Tyrion asked, and looked deeper on along the path, concerned that the young woman may be lying injured somewhere.

At that moment Podrick, having carefully and diligently maneuvered Bran’s chair down the shallow steps of the Godswood, wheeled the King beside them. He gave a large sigh upon seeing Galladon unharmed and resting in Brienne’s loving grasp. He followed Tyrion’s stare along the worn stepping stones. Podrick was the first to hear what appeared to be a commotion at a short distance from their group.

“Listen.” Podrick bid them, drawing eveyone’s attention toward the sound. It seemed as if someone was struggling. The noises emanated from behind a large standing stone, set off to the side of Godswood.

Podrick drew his sword, casting an urgent eye toward King Bran, who nodded his agreement at the young man’s course. Jaime jumped to his feet and helped Brienne stand with Galladon in her arms. He checked them once more to ensure their wellbeing, and moved accompany Podrick. He was eager to catch and dispatch whoever it was that had taken his son, and caused Brienne the grief of missing her child.

Silently, the men crept toward the boulder, Jaime in the lead, Podrick beside him. Without a sound, Jaime signaled for Pod to flank the rock as he prepared to surprise the perpetrator with his approach. Podrick raised his chin in understanding and slid the few steps to the side opposite Jaime. Jaime mouthed a silent count of three as Pordrick studied him intently. Upon the elder knight’s signal, they both sprang behind the stone in fluid motion.

The sound of a young woman’s scream split the silence of the glade. Brienne, Tyrion, and King Bran looked up to see Jaime forcing a skinny half clothed boy, who appeared to be a bit younger than Podrick to his feet. The lad groped to raise britches which were around his ankles, and his face was red not only from shock and embarrassment. Septa Vael emerged the opposite side of the barrier, her hair hanging in tattered waves around her bare shoulders. She held her undone bodice modestly closed in front of her. Her face cringing with embarrassment. Sheathing Widow’s Wail, Jaime gruffly pulled the boy nearly off the ground as he marched him back to where the others waited. Podrick held his sword at the ready as he followed Galladon’s Septa, who could not bring her eyes to meet the small audience to her shame.

Tyrion studied the captive in Jaime’s grasp. “I know you.” He said slowly, recognition forming behind his eyes. “You work in the stables.” He gasped, unable to believe the depth to which a trusted member of the royal staff had sunk. He was sure the boy had attacked the innocent girl.

Brienne studied the young woman who saw to Galladon’s daily care, her face shocked and her eyes sympathetic. She looked at Jaime and Podrick with a perturbed scowl. “Neither of you could cover this poor girl?” She scolded them. “The last thing she needs is to be paraded around before prying eyes after an assault.” She lectured, assuming that stable boy was trying to have his way with the young septa.

Jaime sneered at the two he had found, knowing he an Podrick had interrupted them in quite an intimate moment. “Oh there was no assault.” He informed Brienne, his anger boiling at the thought of how Septa Vaele had neglected their son.

Podrick chuckled in disgust as he looked, unashamed at the Septa. “She was quite enjoying it.” He blushed a little, even while he smirked at the pair who had been caught in their dalliance.

Understanding sank upon Brienne like a heavy weight. She felt the angry shaking begin in her fingers. It traveled up her arms, and she held tighter to Galladon. “This is what you were doing, while I searched for my child?” She questioned angrily, stepping closer to her son’s septa. “While I feared for his life, and went out of my mind trying to find him?” She continued, her voice rising with contempt.

“Forgive me, My La..., Lord Commander.” The girl cowered, beginning to cry. She was unable to meet Brienne’s glare, guilt obvious on her face.

“Forgive you?” Brienne towered threateningly over her. Jaime stood by her side, adding his judgmental stare to the Septa’s embarrassment. “Forgive you?” Brienne could barely breathe. “You left my baby screaming the dirt while you laid with this boy.” Brienne nudged her chin hatefully in the direction of the other guilty party.

Without thinking, the stable boy spoke up in mistaken defense of his lover. “The babe would have been fine, Mum.” He attempted to pass off the angry mother’s fury.

Jaime stepped to the side, and eyed the stable hand hatefully. His rage rivaled Brienne’s as he regarded the man that had endangered his son. Pulling his sword from it’s scabbard, Jaime raised it to the man’s throat and stood ready to push it through the other side of his neck. “No one is talking to you.” Jaime threatened disdainfully. “I suggest you not say another word.” He advised.

Brienne turned back to Septa Vaele, disbelief upon her face. “You’ve done this before. Haven’t you?” She confirmed rhetorically, imagining her child screaming for her each time his Septa neglected him in favor of a rendezvous. The girl squirmed under her scrutiny. “How often?” Brienne demanded!

The Septa quivered before Brienne’s anger, struggling to to keep her undone dress pulled to hide her body. She could not bring her eyes to meet Brienne, knowing her careless behavior was inexcusable. “A few times a week.” She lowered her head in shame.

The gasp caught in Brienne’s throat. The world spun around her. She did not see Jaime tense angrily by her side. It was he who spoke with fury, while Brienne tried to summon the ability for words through her rage. “A few times a week?” He questioned, unable to believe the chances which the supposed respectable girl had taken with Galladon’s safety, and his life.

After forcing a breath into her lungs through her tight gnashing jaw, Brienne continued in Jaime’s line of interrogation. Her glare burning through Septa Vaele. “You left my babe lying alone and screaming here...” She could not finish her thought as the horrors of the possible dangers that could have threatened her son came fully to her mind’s eye. “Anything might have happened to him!” She shouted, incensed, her fist clenching in fury. “Anything!” Brienne screamed as she unleashed the back of her hand against Septa Vaele’s face, knocking the girl to the ground.

The septa sobbed with pain and regret. “Forgive me.” She begged. “I am sorry. I know I shouldn’t have done it. I would never do anything to hurt your dear little boy. I swear it!” She implored, on her knees.

Unable to bear the presence of Galladon’s betrayer any longer, Brienne turned her back on the girl’s pleading. “Get her out of my sight.” Brienne commanded in disgust.

While Brienne tried to calm herself attending to her now squalling infant, Jaime pulled the septa unceremoniously to her feet, glowering with hatred. The child’s father shoved the weeping young woman ahead of him along the path. She glanced at her lover, who had the good sense to remain quiet. It was Podrick who grabbed the stable boy and dragged him behind the shamed woman. They stopped under the judging gaze of King Bran. Septa Vaele stood trembling before him.

“You are a sister of the holy order.” The King admonished. “You have foresake your oath of celibacy. You have betrayed the Seven themselves.” Bran eyed Septa Vaele disapprovingly. “The Lord Commander put her trust in you.” He shook his head, thinking of tiny Galladon. “She gave you charge over her child, and you put that babe’s life in jeopardy.” His eyes narrowed with disappointment. “There are no words you could offer in defense.” He proclaimed.

Jaime let go of his captive, and she fell to her knees weeping before the King, the painful punishments which the young sovereign could decree flashing through her mind. “Please, Your Grace.” She sputtered. “I beg for your mercy.” She cried.

Bran considered the consequences he could inflict upon both of the irresponsible youths. Then relinquished his authority to the one who had been most gravely injured by their lapses in judgement. “That is not my decision to make.” Bran told her, cooly. He raised his eyes to Brienne, as Septa Vaele’s trembling grew more violent with the realization. “Lord Commander, it was your child who was put in peril by their actions.” He stated plainly. “You shall decide their fate.” Bran stated. Jaime’s hand went to the hilt of his sword, ready to do Brienne’s bidding.

Brienne’s scornful look was cast upon Septa Vaele and the stable boy. The others waited for her to pronounce sentence upon the two culprits. “I care not what happens to them, as long as neither comes near my child ever again.” She declared. There was nothing she could see done to them, that would compensate her need to avenge the wrongs done to Galladon, or to her.

King Bran nodded, giving thought to the fates of Septa Vaele, and her lover. “Young Lady.” He directed his words to the septa. “As you have turned your back on your vows to the order, you will be dismissed from their service.” He told her, and then turned his attention to her cohort, who coward before him. “Since you appeared to have shunned your responsibilities in the stables a number of time, you can forfeit your pay.” Bran affirms. “You are both to leave The Keep within the hour.” He ordered. “Take only what you brought with you when you arrived, and do not expect assistance from anyone here.” He warned, his expression then made it clear that his dealings with them were over.

Septa Vaele stood with skaking legs, and eyed the others wearily, still holding her dress around her shoulders as her partner joined her. She envisioned the distance between the Godswood and her small quarters near the fortress sept and how many stares she would receive along the way. “Might I please have something to cover myself?” She almost whispered.

Jaime scoffed. “No.” He answered. “You had no problem displaying yourself here, in this holy place. You had no problem putting my son’s life in danger. Let the entire Keep see what you are.” He determined, almost enjoying the thought of the girl’s mortification. He could tell from the way Septa Vaele’s shocked eyes raced between himself and Brienne, that she had not made the connection that he was Galladon’s father. Brienne was hiding that truth well. The girl nodded and quickly rushed away with the boy for whom she had destroyed her reputation and her future.

“That’s it?” Podrick whispered to Tyrion, confused. He could not understand either King Bran’s, or especially Ser Brienne’s leniency on the pair.

“This is King’s Landing, my boy.’ Tyrion assured him. “On the street with no resources, no family ties, and no means of support they do not stand a chance.” He dipped his chin in satisfaction. “She will be a whore within a week, and he will probably be dead.” A fitting end for the pair who might have cost the life of his small nephew, Tyrion judged

Jaime stepped back to Brienne, wanting desperately to steady her with a hand on her back. With all of his heart, he wished to wrap his arms around her, and their infant, and celebrate the child’s return to them. Jaime could only watch her as she cared for the babe, his love for her growing with each moment. How he yearned for his happy tears at finding their son unharmed could join with hers, and he could declare his love to her. As it were, he wondered if she even remembered he was there. He was certain the thought of their fingers entwined as they searched frantically for their child had faded from her mind, yet he was holding to it like a drowning man would cling to a rope.

“Lord Commander.” King Bran’s voice intruded upon Jaime thoughts of Brienne. “There are not many young Septa left after the destruction of The Great Sept, and the carnage left from the dragon fire.” He prefaced. “However, we shall endeavor to quickly find a trustworthy replacement to care for young Galladon.” He assured her.

She regarded the King, knowing his suggestion came from caring and the wish to see her mind eased. Brienne studied Galladon, finally settled in her arms. She noticed how the boy seemed to be intently staring at Jaime, as if the child sensed the man was his father. Brienne’s mind was a swirl of fear and worry. She had worked so hard, endured so much to attain the esteemed position she held. She again heard the jeers of the boys in her father’s brigade at Evenfall when she had first joined, and those in Renly’s Rainbow Guard when her dearest dream was simply to serve him. She felt the pride of service to Lady Catelyn, and to Queen Sansa. The visions of being knighted by Jaime brought a blush to her cheeks as he stood so near to her. Brienne had sacrificed most of her life to become the commander of the highest ranking regiment in the land. The Kingsguard was everything she ever wanted, until now. She thought of all she had achieved, all she had sacrificed, and the only thing she could not risk. Heavily, her heart knew what her must reply must be.

“I am honored at your concern, Your Grace.” Brienne drew in her breath, saddened by the refusal she must give. “However, I cannot trust another whom I do not truly know with the safety of my babe.” She said, casting down her eyes regretfully. The word tore at her heart as they left her lips. “I have no choice but to resign my post, and return to my father’s house on Tarth to raise my son.” She informed King Bran, solemnly.

Jaime listened to Brienne’s heartfelt resignation. Although he knew her motivation was the safety of their child, he could not bear the pain in her eyes, or the thought that she and Galladon would be so far from him. Here, in the Red Keep, he could at least catch glimpses of them, watch over them as best he could. At Evenfall, Brienne could easily rebuke his attempts to even visit. She could hide herself and their child away from him within the gleaming marble walls of the ancient fortress, and never agree to see him again. They would be lost to him. There would be no chance of winning back Brienne’s love. It was a possibility he could not imagine. He would do anything to keep her near.

“I could care for him. Your Grace.” The words left Jaime’s throat before they had completely formed in his mind.

Brienne spun around to look at him quizzically. She forced herself back to her mistrust of him, again focusing upon the pain he had caused when he left her to bear his child alone. Thoughts of how she relied on him while they searched for Galladon, how he had kept her from reeling out of control, or how good her fingers felt in his were forced from her mind. She could not open herself to him again.

“You?” Brienne tilted her head in disbelief. “What do you know about caring for a babe?” She scoffed at Jaime.

He stood motionless, praying Brienne’s would accept his help. “You could show me how.” He said softly, his eyes never leaving her.

“You’re Grace.” Brienne appealed to Bran. “Surely, Lord Tyrion has need of Ser Jaime’s assistance.” She tried to call upon the logic of duty.

Jaime countered with an argument of his own. “Your Grace. The infrastructure of The Keep has been nearly completely repaired.” He stated his case. “The routines are running smoothly.” He contended. “I dare say Tyrion can do quite well without my help.” He looked at his brother, who presented no objection.

Truthfully, Tyrion had wondered at Bran’s appointment of Jaime as his assistant. It was truly never needed. He had learned, however, not to second guess the Three-Eyed Raven. There must have some reason Bran had been so insistent on allowing Jaime to stay within the walls of the forstress. He had a sneaking suspicion that the reason centered around Brienne, but was uncertain to what purpose. Tyrion knew that Jaime had little interest in the daily running of the Keep or the Realm. Lately, with the exception of trying to ingratiate himself to Brienne which had become a full time job for Jaime, Tyrion understood that the Lion of Lannister had been bored to distraction.

“Lord Tyrion.” King Bran addressed him. “Would you be able to do without Ser Jaime’s services in your daily business as Hand to The King?” He inquired.

Tyrion pretended to consider King Bran’s question. “He has proven invaluable in my daily efforts.” He postulated, stroking his beard in consideration. He knew that although Jaime had absolutely no experience caring for children, the charge of caring her his own son meant everything to his brother. “However, I shall endeavor to make the sacrifice, for little Galladon’s safety.” Tyrion volunteered, almost smiling gleefully at Jaime.

Brienne squirmed, agitated. She was clearly uncomfortable at the thought of giving Jaime such unrestricted access to her life. She knew no one in the Keep could possibly be more trustworthy with her child’s life and well-being than the boy’s own father. That was not her objection. She knew Jaime would never hurt Galladon, nor would he ever allow any harm to befall their son, or her. It was her fear that she could not trust herself around him which terrified her. Brienne realized that although he had left her for another, for some reason he was now doing everything he could to renew their relationship. At that thought, Brienne studied Jaime. His eyes were hopeful, and he seemed to be shaking with anticipation. Could it be, he still had feelings for her? Could it be that the words he told her so long ago when he presented Oathkeeper meant truly what she had always felt? ‘It’s yours. It will always be yours.’ The words echoed in Brienne’s head as she watched him. For so long she had believed it was Jaime’s heart to which he had referred. Then, when he left she convinced herself she had been wrong. Now she was not so sure. Brienne could not allow herself to think about that now.

“Excellent.” Bran gave a distant grin. “It is settled. Ser Jaime will take over the care of your son, Ser Brienne.” He announced. Brienne opened her mouth to protest, but the definitive look on Bran’s face told her it would do no good. The King had spoken. “I am certain he shall do an exemplary job.” Bran assured her. At that, Bran motioned for Ser Podrick, who stepped to the ready behind the King’s chair.

“Please.” Bran said, benevolently to Brienne. “Take tomorrow to instruct Ser Jaime in all the necessities of your babe’s care.” He told her.

“Yes, Your Grace.” Brienne bowed her head. Bran waved his hand, and Podrick pulled Bran slowly back up the steps, giving Brienne a caring look before leaving.

Finally, Tyrion felt a bit uncomfortable in the middle of the tension between Jaime and Brienne. “Well then.” He smiled at Jaime. “Consider our arrangement dissolved.” He snickered. “I will see you at dinner.” He remarked casually. Before taking his leave, Tyrion bowed his head toward Brienne. “Lord Commander.” He bid his farewell, truly feeling for her distress. She nodded silently in return. Tyrion shook his head, amused at the thought of his brother’s new position, as he turned and strutted back up stairs.

Suddenly finding themselves alone together, Jaime and Brienne stood in awkward silence for a long moment. Brienne soothed Galladon upon her shoulder as he cooed in Jaime’s direction. She was relieved to feel the familiar swelling under her armor that urged her to nurse her son. It provided her a means of escape. She lowered her chin formally. “I will expect you at my quarters first thing in the morning.” She told him stiffly, trying not to look at him.

Jaime lowered his head, willing to do anything she asked of him. “As you wish, Lord Commander.” He answered respectfully, almost disarming her with his cordiality.

“Yes. Well.” She continued, her feet still seemingly unable to move. “If you will excuse me.” She bid.

“Of course.” Jaime answered, moving aside, to allow her to depart without further embarrassment.

The last thing Jaime saw before she left him standing alone in the Godswood were her astonishing deep blue eyes. She beheld him for while longer, and her expression nearly broke him. He could almost hear her silent plaintiff plea. ‘Please, don’t hurt me again.’ Was the only thought she left between them before retreating along the stairway.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne instructs Jaime in how to care for their child. Even as she watches the bond grow between father and son, she doubts whether they could have a future together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaime as Mr. Mom! 
> 
> I took some liberties with Jaime’s relationship with Cersei’s children.
> 
> Some may not like Brienne’s last words to Jaime in this chapter. Please remember it’s a process. She has to heal before she can truly trust him again. 
> 
> Thanks. I hope you enjoy! 😁

Jaime arrived at Brienne’s door not long after sunrise the next morning. So eager was he to make a good impression upon the mother of his child, that he had barely slept at all the previous night for fear he would tarry too long in his slumber and be late. Jaime would not allow anything to tarnish the reputation he hoped to rebuild with her. He feared for a moment that she might still be resting, and his appearance at such an early hour would be an unwelcome disturbance. However, she answered his almost timid knock promptly, awake and ready for the day. The only hint that Brienne might not be completely prepared to train him in infant care was the slight weary frown of her tired eyes. He had seen the same fatigue rest upon her face during the Small Council meetings they had both attended. Jaime had assumed it was her reluctance to be in his presence that furrowed the line between her brows. The one he found adorable, but longed to sooth. He now realized that Brienne kept a babe’s schedule, not her own, and that she must be almost perpetually exhausted. He vowed he would do whatever he could to ease her burden.

Brienne opened the door, almost surprised that Jaime had actually shown up. Protectively, she held Galladon close, his tiny head nestled into the curve of her neck. A wall of caution had formed within her chest after King Brans’s declaration that Jaime would care for her son. Brienne feared that he would break Galladon’s heart the way he had hers. As she lay sleepless the night before, she talked herself into believing that either his cavalier nature or his lack of knowledge in caring for a babe would get the better of him, and he would rescind his offer to look after their child. ‘My child.’ She silently corrected herself. She could not help feeling a tinge of relief that he was true to his word, at least for now. Brienne quickly shoved that thought out of her mind.

“You are on time.” Brienne remarked, her voice rising as her eyes unintentionally widened.

Jaime smiled, staring at her in awe. “You seem shocked?” He answered quietly.

Stepping back from the door, Brienne pasted an expression of ambivalence on her face and motioned for Jaime to enter. “Come in.” She said dryly.

Jaime entered the Lord Commander’s quarters and waited nervously as Brienne shut the door. She walked past him and continued into the living chamber, her arms filled with their babe. Seeing the apartments now in daylight, Jaime could not help but notice the distinct difference it held from when he inhabited the rooms. The spaces had been rebuilt since their destruction in the dragon siege, yet it was not only their appearance which seemed unknown to him. He had spent little time there, took almost no interest in the maintenance of the chamber, and barely unpacked his belongings. The dwelling had been only a convenience, a place only to sleep when he could not be in Cersei’s bed. The thought turned his stomach and tightened his jaw in disgust. Jaime forced it from his mind. With Brienne now in residence here, the billet was warm, and although not overly decorated, it was comfortable and soft. It felt like her. It smelled like her. He breathed in the aroma deeply and it relaxed him. Brienne was making a home for their son within these walls.

Jaime could not move as he stared longingly at Brienne. He was enthralled by her. She wore a form fitting tunic of a soft pink hue. It made the rose in her cheeks blossom. His mind flashed upon her lovely face in the ill fitting dress she had been forced to wear at Harrenhal. Jaime’s heart nearly stopped to recall that it had been during their time held captive in that half destroyed ancient fortress when he knew that he loved her. If only he had been true to his heart then. Perhaps they would be sitting together in their own solar, as husband and wife. He saw them once again within her chamber at Winterfell, comfortable, familiar, and in love. The memory of the sensual feeling of her body next to his made his attempt to concentrate that much harder. The passion-filled nights they shared there felt as though they would never end, for a time, but they had. Jaime’s self loathing got the better of him for a moment, as he imagined all they could have been. The Gods willing, now would be his opportunity to win it all back. He tried not to think of how much his heart longed for that wish.

He could not take his gaze from Brienne. The garments she wore skimmed her body and accentuated the curves his hand could still remember sliding over. It was almost a shame to hide such a glorious work of art under armor, but how majestic that looked upon her as well. He realized that having the babe had changed her in all the right places. Only his eye, that knew every inch of her would have noticed. Brienne’s breasts were fuller, but still perfect. Her hips had rounded a bit from spreading to carry their child. They were inviting, and they called to him. Brienne did not wear the plain brown britches that accompanied her armor. At first Jaime thought she had taken to wearing gowns, but realized that the legs of her garment were wide, and of a material so soft it seemed to be a skirt as it floated over her body like water. His view from behind her took his breath away. Brienne’s ass was still wondrous. It begged for his grip. He swallowed hard, trying to chase away the image. She did not walk across the floor, back toward the chair by the fire where he assumed she had been sitting, feeding Galladon, she floated. He noticed her feet were bare and she curled one beneath the other, sitting in the most endearing way. Jaime sighed as he watched her. He realized this was usually a calm private time betweeen mother and child, and lowered his eyes, feeling like an intruder.

Brienne eyed him from across the room. “Well?” She questioned, almost annoyed, and motioned to the chair across from her.

Jaime quickly jumped to attention, and took her gesture as an invitation. He rushed to sit where she bid him. He perched upon the edge of his seat and focused his complete attention on Brienne, eager for her instruction to begin. She softly moved the babe from her shoulder and cradled him in her arms. For a moment, Jaime wondered if Brienne had forgotten he was even there, as she smiled at her infant. Jaime thought how right Tyrion had been in his description of Brienne as the most loving mother he had ever witnessed. He could not remember ever seeing even Cersei hold her babe’s as sweetly, or gaze so wondrously at them. Brienne beheld Galladon as if he had been gifted to her from the Gods themselves. The boy wiggled and cooed next to his mother’s heart, and returned her adoring gaze. He blinked, transfixed, up into the brilliant blue eyes that matched his own, the same eyes in which his father wished to lose himself.

At last Jaime studied the precious face of his son. He was like a miracle, the child born from the love he had shared with Brienne. Jaime regarded them both, sitting only a few paces from him. It was the loveliest scene he had ever witnessed. His heart wanted to burst from the sheer joy of them. Yet, even while he reveled in his happiness just to be near them, Jaime had never felt more distanced from anyone in his life.

“He is beautiful.” Jaime remarked, his tone longing and pained.

‘Of course he is.’ Brienne thought to herself. ‘He looks like you.’ Her mind silently betrayed her heart’s wanting for Jaime. Her only response was a proud nod of her head.

Brienne then lifted her eyes and glared intently at Jaime. “I know it is the King’s decree that you care for my child while I am busied with my duties.” She acquiesced, almost bitterly. “I do not need to remind you the importance of the responsibility with which you have been entrusted.” She affirmed. Once her demeanor had given Jaime a silent warning, she again lowered her gaze to the child. “There is nothing so dear in all the world.” She choked upon the memory of the desperate search for her babe only the previous day, before giving Jaime a finally warning glance.

“Brienne.” Jaime said, his voice softening the look in which she held him. “He is my son.” He reminded her. Brienne looked away. It was a truth she had been trying to forget. “There is nothing more imperative to me than his safety and well-being.” Jaime told her, gazing intently into the brilliant blue of her eye. “And yours.” He finished. He had not meant to be so direct, or so open with his feelings. He knew Brienne would be on guard against advances regarding her heart. However, sitting so close to her as she held their babe, finally reunited with them, drowning in her eyes, for a moment he lost the ability to control himself.

“Don’t.” Brienne halted his attempts, unable to look at him any longer. She stared sternly into the fire, remembering the way he had destroyed their love, and mourning all they might have been. She could not allow him through the defenses which she had so painfully constructed around her heart. Trusting him completely was the last thing she felt she could ever do again.

Jaime read her uneasiness, and wanted more than anything to reassure her of his devotion and fidelity. “I swear to you, by the Seven themselves.” Jaime began. “I would sooner have the flesh flailed from my bones than see one hair upon his head harmed.” He wanted to take her hand and profess his oath, instead he could only voice the vow of his heart, and hope she saw his sincerity. “I will watch over him with my very life. No harm will befall, our child, while I draw breath.” He promised to Brienne.

She stared at him for a long moment, recognizing the look on his face. She had seen it many times at Winterfell, when he would hold her close to him and not say a word. He only studied her, like he were trying to memorize her. As if his thoughts were filled with so much he wanted to say but could not. She had felt his passion, sensed his affection, believed the wordless vows he made to her in every beat of the heart that had sung her to sleep each night. She had wanted to trust that he loved her, but he had never said it. She had given him what he wanted, what they both wanted. She had given him all of herself, so sure they had built a bond between them, stronger than what he had with any other. Their love and their passion had seemed so pure, and complete. She relied upon it, opened herself, and adored him. Then he was gone, leaving her with the consequences of their weakness for each other.

That consequence lived and breathed, and stretched in her arms. She lowered her eyes to the child they had created. There had been a purpose to it all. They had made the only thing that truly mattered to her in all the world. His gift to her, perhaps like her mighty sword, the only one he could provide. Brienne regarded her child, his eyes searching her. It was almost as if he were begging her to give his father this chance. Brienne sighed, she had no choice. It was what the King wanted.

“Very well, then.” Brienne said resolutely, standing and stepping toward Jaime. “First lesson.” She leaned over and pressed the babe into Jaime’s chest.

Instinctively, he raised his arms to support the boy, and went rigid with the weight of his child in his arms. Jaime sat stiffer than if he were wearing armor, a look of abject fear upon his face. He stuttered, trying to mumble a protest, but realized he could not draw enough breath to speak. Looking down into the face of his son, Jaime had never felt so fulfilled, even through his apprehension.

Brienne studied Jaime, and realized he was not at all taking his new position lightly, nor it seemed his new role as father. “Relax.” She told him, giving him a little encouraging smile.

“I fear I will hurt him.” Jaime confessed.

Brienne chuckled in spite of herself. “You won’t hurt him. Just be sure to support his head.” She looked down and noticed that Galladon had settled into Jaime’s arms as if he had always been there. She caught her breath at seeing her son finally in his father’s grasp. Something within her reveled in the site of them. “See.” She returned to sit next them and gestured toward the happy little babe. “He is not afraid.” She looked lovingly at her child.

Jaime calmed a bit, letting his muscles loosen, and allowing Galladon to sink more comfortably into his arms. He blinked in fascination at the tiny face which stared at him with equal wonder. The babe reached his tiny hands up and clutched at Jaime’s beard. An awed smile spread across Jaime’s face. He had never realized how wonderful holding your own child could be. It was a luxury that had never before been afforded him.

Brienne watched him in confusion. “You act as though you’ve never held a babe before.” She questioned, her head tilted in bewilderment. She knew he had fathered all of Cersei’s children. It was a fact of which they had never spoken. When once she had inquired, Jaime’s answer was a sheepish shrug of his shoulders, and an all too telling silence. Now, Brienne’s eyes registered her understanding. He had never held them.

Jaime understood the confusion in Brienne’s tone. He knew she referred to the children his own sister had bore him. “It was not allowed.” He answered. “We could...” He stopped, unwilling to bring a shadow of his past over the moment, over the new life he yearned for so very much. “It would have been too much of a risk.” Jaime explained, but did not elaborate. He did not need to.

Brienne felt a surge of pride, and satisfaction that her babe was the first of Jaime’s children to rest within his grasp. There was a specialness to it. She felt that it gave them a connection that even Cersei had not had with him. It gave her son a bond which Jaime had not shared with any of the others. Jaime appeared to be enjoying the time with Galladon as well, she hoped. Brienne allowed him the time with their son he seemed to so desperately want. It was his first real experience with fatherhood. Brienne wondered if his desire to be a part of Galladon’s life would be a strong or permanent one, but in this moment it was simply nice to watch them together.

At that thought she snapped back to her determination not to allow her child to be hurt the way she had. Brienne could not trust that Jaime would be with them now indefinitely, no matter how much he professed to that desire. He had made promises to her, before. Although the words had not been spoken, they were understood. She thought he had found the significance in them, as well. Brienne had assumed those silent vows he made to her in the accepting of her maidenhead, and their living together at Winterfell almost as if they were man and wife, would have kept him by her side. She feared the day he would ride away and leave Galladon standing alone in the dark, weeping for him. She raised the armor around her heart once more, and returned to her distant countenance.

“You’ll have to get used to holding him.” She said, her chin stiff. Jaime noticed her tone was more formal than it had been before. He nodded, hoping he could sit a while longer with them. Brienne obliged Jaime’s silent wish. She sipped a cup of tea while he became acquainted with his son, under her ever watchful eye. “A lot of people say a babe should not be held too much.” She continued. “They say it will spoil the child.” Brienne looked lovingly over her son, resting so contentedly upon Jaime’s good arm. “I do not believe that to be true.” Brienne said with a tiny shake of her head. “Children should be held as much as possible.” She declared. “It builds trust. It shows them who they can depend upon.” She raised her eyes to Jaime. He turned his head to meet her veiled warning.

Jaime heard what she had truly meant to impart to him. He understood that she would not allow him to lavish his attentions upon Galladon, build a connection with the boy, and then abandon him. The parallel to their own story was obvious. There was more than a hint of indictment in Brienne’s voice as she spoke, and it was a dagger to Jaime’s heart. He wanted to unburden himself, to beg for her forgiveness, to swear his life to the both of them then and there. He would never leave them, either of them, ever again. Jaime wished there was someway he could give Brienne faith in his commitment to them. Caring for their babe would be his chance.

He studied their child, his heart filling with determination to never disappoint either of them. “Then, I shall never put him down.” Jaime pledged. Brienne sat quietly, watching her fingers trace the rim of her silver cup. Jaime assumed her silence was the result of her mistrust. In reality, Brienne had lost herself for a moment in the hope that he might not put her down this time, either.

Jaime and Brienne sat together with Galladon, almost like a family. He could imagine they were simply enjoying a pleasant morning, like many before and many to come. His thoughts saw them lounging beside their own hearth at Casterly Rock, or Evenfall, or some other place where they would make their home. How fiercely he prayed to the Gods for that blessing. How completely he loved them. As Jaime dreamed the thought into existence, Galladon’s face suddenly clouded and he burst into tears.

“What? What did I do?” Jaime looked urgently at Brienne, fearful that he had unwittingly somehow harmed his own child.

Brienne gave him a knowing grin. “Nothing.” She assured him as she rose to retrieve her squalling son from his father. “You did not harm him.” She assured Jaime, wrapping Galladon close to her. She knew exactly why the babe was beckoning her. Jaime stood, hoping to be of help, should she need it.

“If you will excuse me.” Brienne said shyly. “That is his hungry cry. I need to feed him.” Her focus was already fully upon Galladon. She began to step away from Jaime.

He wanted to tell her that there was no reason for her to take their babe to another room to see to his needs. He had seen her glorious form each night during the moon they were together in the North. He had caressed her supple softness, tasted the sweet salt of her skin, felt her strong muscles tense and relax beneath him. He could think of nothing more precious than to witness the woman he loved nourishing their child. With a bitterness which one can only feel at themselves for the mistakes they have made, Jaime realized that it was a privilege for which he had no right to hope. He simply gave Brienne an understanding, respectful bow and watched her disappear with Galladon into her bedchamber. He was left standing alone in the outer room, wishing he had never left them.

Brienne stayed behind her closed door with the baby for quite a while. Jaime used the time to familiarize himself with the living chamber in her quarters. He counted steps and memorized the layout. He had no wish to inadvertently trip over furniture or run into something while his arms were filled with his tiny son. The remainder of the time Brienne was occupied feeding Galladon, Jaime spent staring at the flames in the hearth hoping he could win her over, and rekindle the love they once shared. He prayed that her heart still held something for him upon which they could build.

The click of Brienne’s door opening brought Jaime from his hoping. He spun around to behold her as she walked down the small hall from her sleeping chamber, their son resting softly and sleepily in her arms. Gods, she was breathtaking. Jaime had never seen anything so lovely all his life.

“I usually do this while I feed him.” She continued, not straying from the task, ignoring the worshipping look on Jaime’s face. “But you should learn how, for those busy days.” She told him. Jaime wondered, with a bit of caution, to what she referred. “Sit.” She ordered.

Jaime quickly did as he was told, perching once more in the edge of the chair he had occupied earlier. Brienne again laid their child in Jaime’s arms, and continued her instruction. She guided his hand and elbow, and showed him how to move the child to his right shoulder. Her touch sent warm, adoring shivers through him. He never wanted her to remove her fingers from his skin.

“I hope this shoulder is acceptable to you.” She told him, not noticing the spark that had passed between them. “You’ll need a hand for this.” She determined. “At least at first, until you get used to is.” Brienne said. Her gaze did not meet his eyes, suddenly realizing that she may have insulted him. He showed no sign that he resented her comment.

“What is it I am to do?” Jaime looked at her nervously.

Brienne smiled at her son, not returning Jaime’s glance. “You’re going to help him get the air out of his tummy.” She said as she reached out and stroked the fuzz on the back of her son’s head. “He nurses quite greedily. I am sure there are a few bubbles in his belly.” She smiled, not realizing the sweet intimate picture she had just painted. “It you don’t get them out, his stomach will become upset, and he will spit up.” She explained, taking Jaime’s left hand and placing it over Galladon’s back. This time he was so enthralled, and so petrified, with learning how to care for his son that he hardly noticed the thrill of Brienne’s skin against his. His heart would contemplate it later.

Brienne rested her hand over his, and squeezed her fingers under his his palm so she could lift it slightly. She began to pump his hand up and down upon Galladon’s back. Then she would stop, and rub Jaime’s fingers over the boy’s shoulder blades. Then quickly the forceful pats would begin again. Her moves were deliberate and strong. Jaime was certain he would bruise the babe’s delicate skin.

“Is this not too hard?” He questioned, fearfully, his eyes wide with concern.

Brienne shook her head. “Not at all. You will not hurt him.” She assured the nervous new father. “Sometimes it takes a bit of force.” She described. “Try it yourself.” She bid him, removing her own hand from the process.

Jaime’s wrapping gentled a bit. “Keep it up the same way I did.” Brienne corrected. “He needs your help.” Jaime complied, even over his worry.

A few moment later he was rewarded with a tiny muffled belch from his son’s throat. It was the most adorable and gratifying sound Jaime had ever heard. He began to chuckle in amazement. Jaime looked at Brienne, a proud smile on his face. She rewarded him with a small, satisfied up turn of her lips. Not the wide smile that melted his heart, but he was willing to accept anything.

“Is that it?” Jaime asked, willing to do whatever else was needed.

Brienne nodded. “Yes. You can relax.” She refused to admit that she found Jaime’s attempts quite comical. Who would have thought that the Lion of Lannister, the Kingslayer, would have met his match in a tiny helpless babe? Above all she she had no intention of letting on that she was extremely impressed at how natural he was taking to infant care. It relieved her a little to think that perhaps her child would not be left under totally incompetent supervision.

Feeling a little more at ease, and enjoy holding his son once more in his arms, Jaime carefully maneuvered the boy from his shoulder to the cradling elbow of his left arm. He used the handless stump of his right to support the babe from beneath. His heart melted at the groggy little yawn he received as a compensation for his efforts. The breath left his lungs with the joyous smile that shone upon his face. Before Jaime could recover his senses, his boy drifted off to sleep in his embrace.

“Follow me.” Brienne beckoned as she stood. Jaime did as he was directed, and fell in step behind her as she walked toward her bedchamber, their child held securely at his chest.

The light in the room was soft through sheer draperies that Brienne drew closed. A gentle warm fire burned still in the hearth. Jaime realized that Brienne kept it burning throughout the day to warm her babe as he napped. She motioned toward the little bassinet which stood beside the head of her bed. Together, mother and father tiptoed to their son’s bed. Brienne pulled back the soft quilt that covered the mattress. She took the clean cloth that hung over the rim and laid is across the middle of the cushion.

“In case his napkin leaks while he sleeps.” She whispered softly. Jaime nodded his understanding. “He ruined two mattresses at Winterfell before Gilly let me in that little secret.” Brienne giggled softly, lost in the memory. Jaime inwardly regretted not having been there.

“Samwell Tarly’s wife?” Jaime asked. He had noticed the young family around the Red Keep, and was glad at the prospect that Brienne had a friend in Kings Landing.

Brienne nodded, and studied her sleeping child, memories of his long and harrowing birth filling her mind. “The Grand Maester and Lady Tarly delivered Galladon.” She said softly. Jaime heard the painful recollection in her voice, as she reached and held onto her son’s fingers. “If it were not for Gilly, we would both be dead.” She whispered.

Jaime stared at Brienne, suddenly terrified even though the outcome had been a happy one. If she saw the fear in him, she did not reveal it, but continued her description. She did not know why she felt the need to retell the events of her child’s delivery to Jaime, but something within would not allow her silence. “It took two days to bring him forth.” Brienne stared rigidly ahead of her. “He was stuck within my hips. Gilly grasped my swollen belly and nearly pushed him from me herself.” A small sweet smile found her face, as she remembered the first precious sight of her child.

A shutter ran through Jaime at her acknowledgement. His chest was hallow that he had not been there when Brienne needed him the most. Although his panic would have nearly overwhelmed him, Jaime wished to be nowhere else but there by her side, giving her strength. He knew it could never be. It was a moment of their lives that had passed without him. He realized he owed the young Tarly couple an immeasurable debt, one that despite his Lannister upbringing, he would never be able to repay.

Brienne gestured for Jaime to lay Galladon into the cradle. He lowered his stiff arms over the tiny bed and nestled their child carefully down upon the tick. Jaime’s breath caught in his throat, fearful that any extra movement would wake the babe. He brought the quilt around Galladon’s waist slowly, and smiled as the infant snuggled deeper into his sleep. Brienne bent down before him and laid a soft kiss upon her son’s forehead. Jaime wished he could demonstrate such affection for his child. He stood with Brienne for a long moment, watching their child sleep. Jaime’s soul was soaring to be with them. His heart already belonged to Brienne, and would for eternity. What he did not expect was how quickly and completely Galladon had taken possession of the organ within his chest as well. He had already fallen deeply in love with his own son.

After some time, Brienne touched his arm and nodded her head toward the door. “Come.” She whispered. “He will only sleep for a little while. There is much to do.” She told Jaime. He stole one last look at the angelic face of their slumbering babe while Brienne retrieved a heavy basket laden with clothing and linens from near the hearth. Together, they left the room.

Brienne gave no signs of stopping, resting, or even slowing down. As Galladon slept, she instructed Jaime in laundering the linens, and clothing their son required. She showed him where to find the buckets of water that had already been placed at the ready on the balcony. Those she set within the hearth to heat to near boiling. Returning to the terrace, Brienne filled a metal washtub with the steaming water. She used a cake of soap to create thick lather in the tub, and used a scrubbing board to scour each item in the basket she had picked up from the bedchamber. One of the buckets she used to rinse the solids from the tiny napkins worn by the babe. Brienne laughed out loud when Jaime gagged at the smell.

“You’ll get used to it.” She promised. He frowned, but accepted her prediction. As she handed him the soap and insisted he give it a try.

By the time they had attended to each garment and blanket, the items shone bright, clean and fresh, and ready for their child once more. Jaime noticed that Brienne’s hands were red and chapped from the daily washings. “Did not the Septa do this for you?” Jaime asked, looking regretfully at her raw skin, as he helped Brienne hang the washing over the rail of the balcony to dry in the sun.

“Everyday.” Brienne confirmed. “But there is always more.” She nodded. “I usually have a basketful to do before I sleep at night.” Her tone gave no hint of any resentment of the task. Jaime, however, was speechless with guilt and grief at the depth and breadth of her seemingly endless chores. Everything she did for their son was in addition to, and after foreseeing her duties to the Crown. It was no wonder she seemed to tired. Again, Jaime found reason for shame. If only he had been there to help her.

They had barely stepped back inside when the sound of Galladon’s cry commanded them to return to the bedchamber. Brienne hurried to soothe her babe. Jaime marveled at the sweet loving smile that beamed on her face as she hovered over the cradle. The loving sentiments with which she greeted the waking child were answered by the softest happiest coos and squeals from him. Jaime stood to the side unnoticed, as Brienne lifted Galladon into her arms and kissed his tiny head, holding him close as if she had not seen him in years.

“Could you fetch me that linen?” Brienne spoke to Jaime without looking up. She pointed absently to a long thick cloth draped over the footboard of her bed. He jumped to bring her what she needed.

Brienne lowered her chin in acknowledgment, and then pointed with it. “Lay it out on the bed.” She directed. Jaime moved quickly to obey.

As soon as Jaime had smoothed the cloth over the mattress, Brienne laid their babe softly upon it, and began to remove the little sleeping gown he wore. Midway through, she stopped, remembering why Jaime was there. “Go ahead, undress him.” She moved back to allow the babe’s father closer to the mattress.

Jaime continued to raise the boy’s garment over his head, revealing his plump little belly, and obviously full undergarment. He smelled it, as he realized what he was going to need to do. “Oh.” Jaime remarked.

Brienne raised her eyebrows in anticipation. “Yes. It’s napkin changing time.” She confirmed, smiling again at her son.

The child wore a white cotton cloth folded around his legs and waist, with a large silver closure to secure it in the front. “Remove the pin and set it out of his reach.” Brienne told Jaime. Again, he followed her instructions to the letter.

“Now unfold the napkin, and open it.” Brienne’s tried to hide her amusement at the horrified look that crossed Jaime’s face upon seeing what he would be cleaning from Galladon’s bottom. However, the shudder of laughter found her shoulders and escaped through her lips. “Really.” She chided. “All the blood and muck that you have seen on the battlefield, and this is what flusters you, a babe’s soiled napkin?” She eyed him, in shock.

Jaime realized the humor in his reaction, and joined Brienne in her laughter. It was good to jest with her again. For a moment he could almost imagine it had never changed. “Alright, then.” Jaime answered. “Show me how to do this.” He challenged, his brows swept upward in mock defensive.

Brienne oversaw Jaime’s cleaning of their messy babe. She hated to admit it, but at least he did not seem to be making a total shambles of the process. His attention and care for the boy eased her mind a bit as the hours of the day passed. Next, on the agenda was bathing a squirming kicking infant. Brienne shared her secrets for warming a pail of water next the hearth instead of in the flames, to achieve the perfect temperature for Galladon’s delicate skin. Jaime helped Brienne fill a small wastub on a table beside the fire in her bedchamber. She guided Jaime in holding the slick babe while washing him, and drying him with the thickest linen kept warm beside fire. By the time the bath was finished, Jaime was unsure who had been more drenched, himself or Galladon.

At last Jaime and Brienne finished bathing their son. The child was once more clothed in clean garments. A fresh warm blanket was wrapped snuggly around him. Almost at the exact same moment, a knocking sounded upon the main door of the Lord Commander’s quarters.

Brienne raised her eyes, satisfied. “That will be the midday meal.” She noted.

Jaime eyed her with surprise, and he spun his neck in a double take.”Midday? It is only Midday?” He searched the window trying to see the level of the sun in the sky. He was certain that hours had already passed.

A calm, wise, expression rested upon Brienne’s face. “Yes. The days are long when you care for a little one.” She sighed, and gathered Galladon to her, kissing the soft crown of his head. “But the time is short.” Jaime thought her face held a melancholy sadness. Brienne could have imparted the many ways that she already saw the child changing, but fell silent clinging to her quickly growing son.

Jaime answered the door and saw the scullery maids into Brienne’s apartments as she settled with Galladon beside the fire in the parlor, a large but light quilt gathered on her lap. Neither noticed the sideways glances with which the young girls who served their breads and cold meats regarded each other. Their amusement was caused as much by the obvious relationship between the Lord Commander and the Kingslayer, as by the fact that the Lion of Lannister was to serve as nurse maid to a child. The two quickly served the meal, curtsied, and hurried from the room lest they insult their masters.

Jaime offered Brienne a plate of food. She accepted it politely, but set it aside. She nestled Galladon into the curve of her elbow. It was obvious from the babe’s fussy little cries that he was hungry. It was also clear that Brienne was anxious to feed the babe. Jaime took it as a sign of trust when Brienne began to loosen the ties at the neck of her tunic. He busied himself preparing his own food, and tried not to look, fearful of making Brienne uncomfortable. He made a production of turning from the trays, hoping to signal to that he would be moving about the room. He did not want to cause her embarrassment.

When he turned, Jaime realized that Brienne was covering her nursing with the quilt. She had placed it loosely over her shoulder but open to her gaze. Jaime could see the movments of Galladon’s eager feeding beneath. The thought made his smile at the sweet naturalness of the act. He could see a soft blush on Brienne’s cheeks, and she tried to look away slightly.

“Would you like me to eat on the terrace?” He asked considerately.

Brienne shook her head. “No.” She answered, and gestured to the seat across from her. “Here is fine, if it is alright with you.” Jaime bowed his head, and sat quickly, still trying to avert his eyes, but wanting desperately to behold the precious scene.

“We will need to get used to this.” Brienne acquiesced. “Most days you will need to bring him to me for his noontime feeding, and there may not be any place private to go.” She explained, trying to convince herself.

Jaime shrugged thoughtfully at her logic. He wondered if Brienne understood that he had already memorized every inch of her beautiful breasts. Instead of making any assumptions on the topic, he simple agreed and went about eating his meal. They sat in silence as Galladon finished from her.

Under her wrap, Brienne wriggled herself back into her garments, and tied them securely. She brought Galladon out from under his covering, and laid him to her shoulder, her experienced hands soon coaxing a tiny gas bubble from his belly. Finally feeling free to look, Jaime smiled warmly at them, and allowed himself to hope for the future.

Upon being relieved of the pressure in his belly, Galladon fell immediately asleep. Brienne looked searchingly around the room. Jaime was readily on the alert to retrieve whatever she needed. Her eyes fell upon something by the door. “Could you please bring me that basket?” She asked softly, pointing to a long, cradle- shaped hamper of woven reeds.

“Of course.” Jaime jumped up eagerly, and took only moments to bring back the little portable cradle.

Within he saw there was a soft feather tick, and more cozy blankets. He set it on the floor beside Brienne’s chair and watched as she nestled Galladon down within for his nap. Before he returned to his chair, Brienne had lifted a small cloth bag from the floor on her opposite side, and pulled out knitting needles, and a ball of yarn from inside. Attached to the strands of fibers was a little stocking just right for their son’s tiny foot. Jaime was astonished at Brienne’s newfound skill.

“Brienne of Tarth, the woman warrior of Winterfell, knitting baby booties?” Jaime gasped, his mouth agape. He did not mean it as an insult. He was completely amazed.

She answered with something in between a bitter scoff, and a scarcastic chuckle. “The woman warrior of Winterfell did not have a child to raise.” Brienne remarked. She continued where she had left off her knitting, her fingers working fast, her concentration overly intense. Jaime felt no bigger than an ant on the floor. He realized that although she had granted him a small glimpse into their lives, he was still an outsider, perhaps an intruder now, almost a stranger.

“Brienne.” He spoke dryly after a few moments. This time it was he who could not raise his gaze to her. “I know that you named him after me.” Jaime said gratefully, his eyes traveling down to cast a loving stare over his son. “I know his first name if Jaimes.” He told her.

Brienne’s expression was unchanging, her hands stitching furiously. “I never call him that.” She answered, her attempt to remain emotionless making her words seem more resentful than she had meant.

Jaime nodded. Surely the gesture must have meant that Brienne’s feelings for him were, at the very least, buried somewhere deep within her injured heart. “If I may ask,” He cleared his throat. “After I...After everything, why?” He wondered aloud, wanting something in her answer that might bolster his hope of mending the chasm between them.

For a long awkward moment, it appeared that Brienne would not reply. Then just as Jaime lowered his head, she spoke. “I suppose, at the time, it just seemed the right thing to do.” She told him, a thousand miles of distance and an endless expanse of time visible upon her face. Brienne’s chin quivered in the way that meant she was fighting her tears with all she had. He had seen it when first they had parted in Kings Landing. When she had embarked upon her search for Sansa Stark. The same painful expression had been the knife which pierced his own heart the last time he had beheld it, the night he left her at Winterfell. She looked urgently down to the yarn and needles in her hands, as if they were the most important things in the world. She found it was impossible to describe to him how giving their son his name had somehow, even in spite of her hurt and anger, had made him seem near to them.

Jaime did not press her further. He had no wish to raise her anger. He simply nodded and looked into the fire. “Thank you.” He whispered.

Again they sat in silence, Jaime searching for something to say, and Brienne hoping he did not find it. As if Brienne’s polished blade had called out, Jaime noticed the grand jeweled hilt of Oathkeeper, her glorious weapon laid carefully upon the mantle, a place of honor. He had seen that she still wore if proudly at her side. He thought it a promising sign. He had gifted it to Brienne when it was the only affection he could dare show her. Even when they were parted, he felt his own Widows Wail yearning for its companion, as his heart had for her. They had stood side by side, protecting Winterfell, protecting the living, protecting each other. The two swords had hung together on the posts of the bed that had seen the conception of their child. Jaime nearly winced to think that he was the one who had torn them apart. Surely, her holding fast to the gift of his heart, meant that her own still belonged to him.

Jaime stood and moved to the hearth. He ran his fingers over the golden lion head that crowned Oathkeeper. “It still shines the same as the day I gave it to you.” He proclaimed. He hoped she would understand his true meaning. “You have kept it well.” He praised.

At last Brienne raised her head and looked at him. She studied him seriously, For a moment, her expression was distant and sweet. She too was recalling the promise of the day it was given. Then her entire countenance fell, as if it had been destroyed. She sighed slowly, and focused on her blade. It was her most prized possession. It had always empowered her, strong and true at her side, as if Jaime had walked next her each time she donned the weapon. It made her feel as if nothing could harm her. Then something did, perhaps irreparably.

“My offer stands.” She told him, staring ahead, her jaw steeled.

Jaime regarded her, his bewilderment evident. “Offer?” He repeated, her meaning lost on him.

Brienne nodded. “It was given as aid in my quest to find Queen Sansa.” She reminded him. “I was successful in that mission, and more.” She breathed in proudly, before her shoulders fell. “I tried to return it to you, on the field at Riverrun.” Her words were slow, deliberate. Her memories fought her intentions, but she forced her will to finish for her. “If you wish it back, all you need do is ask.” She said simply to Jaime as if she spoke of a common ordinary item, instead of her connection to him.

Jaime’s breath failed him. He swallowed hard, his eyes damp with bitter tears. He shook his head, almost collapsing back onto the chair, his legs failing him. “Brienne.” Jaime looked at her, anguish torturing his soul. “You and I both know what I meant that day.” His tone pleaded with her to hear him, truly hear him. “You know I did not mean only the sword, when I told you it was yours, always.” His fingers clenched around the arm of the chair. “After all we have been through. All I have stupidly done. My profession remains as true as it ever was.” For a moment he lowered his head remorsefully. Unable to bare the pain in her tone, or in his own chest, Jaime stared at her more earnestly than he ever dreamed he could. Wordlessly, he begged her to listen. When he spoke, his vow was clear and compelling. “It belongs to no other.” He swore.

Brienne grew wistful and silent to the point that Jaime thought she might rush into his arms, then and there. However, as quickly as the softness of her memories played within her head, the hurt in her heart screamed at her for caution. Her mind dragged the images before her eyes of his leaving, and of her birthing Galladon without him. “I know of what you spoke when you gave Oathkeeper to me.” She admitted. “I know you even believed it, then.” Her expression as she watched him was almost kind. There was a hint of compassion in the lilt of her voice.

She too had wanted it to be so, with all of her heart. Brienne had believed, as well, that they could be together, that there could be a future for them. Maybe they had been naive, thinking their love could have survived amid all of the death and destruction around them. Had they even had a right to hope? “Perhaps we were only fooling ourselves.” A somber sigh seemed to deflate her entire body with grief.

Brienne could not tell which was larger, the lump in her throat, or the pit in her stomach. “But, Jaime.” She looked at him with all the resolve she could muster. “You were never mine.” Brienne declared sadly.

The words stung ruefully in his ears. If Brienne had slapped him across the face, it would have pained him far less. So this was what he had left them. No wonder Brienne had been barely able to look at him all these weeks. He had thought she would run into his arms when first they were reunited. Jaime was certain she would have held fast to his pledge, that his heart would always belong to her. At last he realized that he not only broken that precious gift that was her heart. He had broken her. She no longer believed he had ever truly loved her. Jaime sat reeling, trying desperately to grasp onto steady ground. He knew that he had earned her distrust. He had painted the doubt onto her heart. There was no blame which he could lay upon her, and none for which he would ever forgive himself. He thought she would never doubt his love for her, but he had stripped her of that faith. He knew not how, but he would give his life to rebuild it. As Galladon slept, blissfully unaware, his parents sat in silence, worlds apart from each other.


End file.
